Our Defiance
by LovelyFangirls
Summary: Thanks to a failed peace meeting, Mafia child John Watson is forced to marry someone he doesn't love for the sake of balance. Of course, meeting tall dark and handsome wasn't part of the plan, neither were all the repercussions to follow. How was he supposed to know the man he loved was the son of the rival family? (Mafia AU) T for light sex and violence, language, and feels. (TuT)
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Some, if not most, people have parents that have a pre-mapped plan of their future. Who you must be, what you must do, who you should fall in love with and such. There was no exception for John Watson, the only difference being that his parents had a wife planned out. You see, John Watson was the only son of James Watson, the famous British Mafia mob boss. Yes, the British Mafia may sound misplaced, but in truth, there were four of them. There was the Watson family, the Morstan family, the Adler family, and finally, the notorious Holmes family. The Holmes were considered 'the genius minds of Britain', running their operations mostly underground and through what the youngest referred to as a 'homeless network'. Nearly all of the other families hated them, excluding the Adlers, whose daughter held prestigious favor for the youngest of their family; Sherlock.

The Watsons and Morstans were in alliance thanks to their similarities. The Morstans were a highly trained family of assassins, while the Watsons specialized more with battle formations and well organized associations. The Watsons were the calmer, more business side, making their alliance perfect in compatibility. Both were also known to converse with the Adlers make no mistake, but there was hesitance in that because of the Holmes situation, also because the Adler family was known to pull sexual stunts to raise their standing in power. Irene, the third generation daughter, had even had sexual occasion with the royal family for use of blackmail.

Needless to say, life was complicated. But, that can happen when you're born into a Mafia family, especially when you're hiding a secret. Such as your sexual preference.


	2. The Peace Meeting

"Jonathan!" came a harshly firm voice from the bottom of the stairwell.

John was pulling his jumper over his head as he raced down the steps, the fabric catching at his nose when he tried to forcefully pull it down. "Ouch... Coming!"

"Hurry it up or else we'll be late!"

"Yes father…" he muttered, finally reaching the bottom step.

With a stern frown, John's father ushered him along to the front door. James was an intimidating man. With a bushy moustache and constantly furrowed brow, he was famous for his idle stares when irritated. His eyes however, his father's eyes were soft and wise, gobbled up by pale blues and greys, which matched the stray silver hairs on his head.

John let himself be handled into the car out front, his father following soon after. John sat tall beside him, eager as ever for approval.

"Now remember Jonathan, this meeting is crucial to our peace between the families. No slip ups today." He reminded.

"I know."

"That means I need you to sit beside Mary once more. Her father and I are always saying how good you look together, I suspect it would please him greatly to see you beside her."

"Yes father." John nodded, keeping his hands atop his knees as the car sailed across the pavement. "Will mother be joining us by chance?"

"She will. You grandmother has made progress in her health lately."

John let his eyes wander out the window. His grandmother had been stuck in the hospital for a long time now. She'd been diagnosed with Dementia as a fairly young age, after an accident knocked her unconscious for a few hours. She'd damaged her nerves, slowly losing her brain cells as the days passed. It was tough on his mother to see her at the point she was now. She didn't even recognize John anymore. It meant that his mother spent days at the hospital, staying by her side.

It was almost becoming a rare occasion when she was available to them. Like a treat.

* * *

><p>"Ah, James! Wonderful to see you." Thomas welcomed. "Another dull peace meeting saved by your joyful presence!" he laughed.<p>

James entered the room, greeting his friend with a warm embrace.

John stared around the room. In the middle was a large circular table, or, tables. It was more like four tables that circled in pieces, coming together to form one giant table. The chairs were plush this year, with red cushioning on the head and seat. The room was large, almost big enough to be a ballroom, which it might have well been before the room was set up.

"John!"

John spun around, his eyes happily greeted by his mother, who pulled him into a loving hug. "Mother!" he smiled, "How is grandmother?"

"She's better... but she forgot her name for the first time today. It was hard to leave her like that... but this is an important event after all..." she half smiled, hiding her anguish over it.

"Is that wise? Wouldn't it be better to stay with her this time? What if-"

"It will be fine John. Its only three hours. The hospital said that they would notify me if she worsened."

"Well hello John~" sang a familiar voice, arms wrapping around him from behind.

"Hi Irene…" he returned with monotone.

"I see you're as official as ever." She grinned, "This year the annual peace meeting was set up by the queen herself. My family pulled a few strings see, you like it?"

"The seats look comfortable."

"They'd better be… I don't fancy a three hour sit on a hard chair." Irene replied, letting her arms fall to her hips as she released him, "Have you seen the Holmes family yet? I want to give Sherlock a big kiss!"

Mrs. Watson grinned, "I'll be seeing you two later."

Irene bowed her head politely as she left.

John scoffed, "No I haven't seen them. They'll most likely be late again."

"Now don't be like that…" she pouted. "There's no need to be jealous."

"I'm not jealous."

She grinned devilishly, leaning forward only the tiniest bit, "I'm sure."

"Jonathan." His father called, gesturing for him to join them at the table.

He bowed his head slightly to Irene before jotting off, straightening his tie with confidence. The seats had to be a certain way, which in truth, was always the worst part of these meetings for John.

It meant organizing everyone so that no one sat by someone who could potentially offend them, John and Mary sat beside James, both of them close to one another, the Adlers sat on either side of the ends of the two families, making sure no one from the Morstans or Watsons sat near the Holmes family. It was a clever set up, but a pain in the arse to organize. By the time they were finally done, the Holmes family arrived.

There was dead and uncomfortable silence as they took their seats. Every family glaring at one another.

John noticed one of the seats empty, and before thinking piped up, "Who's absent?" biting his tongue the moment the words left his mouth.

Mycroft was the first son, but often spoke for his family anyway, "I'm afraid my brother is pre-occupied at the moment and couldn't make it today."

John frowned, "My mother; Andrea came from out of London to attend this meeting, leaving her mother in bad condition at the hospital. What could be so important that he couldn't attend!?"

"Jonathan." James glared over to him, "While I apologize for my son's outburst, it is true that I've never once seen the younger Holmes attend the meeting. What are you pulling? why could he not attend?"

"My brother chooses not to engage in family affairs…"

"So it's out of choice? That's not his decision to make! This is going against the peace!" Thomas shouted, standing firmly as he spoke, "Are you declaring war?"

"No. Now sit down before you hurt yourself." Mycroft mumbled, almost as if it were a tedious thing.

"You're threatening me now?" Thomas squawked as he pointed an accusing finger at the Holmes child.

"Would you like me to?"

"That's enough!"

All eyes turned to the Lady of Adlers, who stood proudly showing her bust, "This is something that should be solved with peace. That was the entire point of the foundation of annual peace meetings." she informed, standing straighter a she started to gain control of the room. "Is it true that Sherlock has no partake in your family matters?"

"That is correct." Mycroft replied hesitantly.

"Yet he lives under your house and protection? Taking part in the family?"

"He's not-"

"Is it true?" she repeated, purposefully interrupting his explanation.

Mycroft's father nodded solemnly. "Yes."

"Then he should partake in helping to _solve_ the peace, not demolish it with his antics."

Thomas interjected, "What do you propose?"

"Marriage."

The room was silent for a still moment. It was almost as if no one even breathed. "To whom?" James questioned.

"Irene."

"But that would upset the balance! The Adlers would be too far in with the Holmes! Bonds would be broken!" Thomas reclaimed.

She shrugged, "Then why don't the other families marry as well? You've both favored pairing your son and daughter have you not? This way the bonds are strong with marriage, but the Holmes son has contributed. Families will interconnect. Splitting into two fairly met sides. Is this not peace?"

"This is madness." Andrea added, pressing a hand to her temple in frustration.

"This is necessary." Thomas replied.

Andrea shook her head, "We've never done such a thing, and the children will be forced to-"

"Andrea!" James spat, forcing her mouth shut before turning back to the family representatives, "The Watsons accept, all those in favor of this development say I."

"I."

"I."

"I."

"Then let it be known that families will bind through marriage of third generation representatives."

"Agreed." Mrs. Adler nodded.

"Agreed." Mycroft stood.

Thomas turned to James, a happy smile on his face, "Agreed James, our son and daughter will finally be wed."

"I now call this years annual peace meeting to an end."

John didn't move from his seat when others started to leave, he just stared off into space, hardly even breathing. He was supposed to marry... Mary?

* * *

><p><strong>Peace Meeting- a day every year that the opposing Mafia families gather to make sure turfs are secure, etc. to keep war from out breaking, occasionally the royal family will help make this gathering possible, for the sake of citizen safety.<strong>


	3. Inheritence

John felt weak as he clicked open the lock on his house, pushing the door open for his mother first, then letting his father past. There was no way to get out of it in the end, he would be forced to marry her for the sake of his family.

"I know this isn't exactly what you'd planned son, but your marriage was bound to happen anyway. The only difference is the time." James encouraged.

"How do you know that's what I wanted?" He cringed.

James frowned as he sat over the couch, grabbing a cigar from the box on the table and flicking open the lighter. He let out a soothing puff above his head before letting out a heavy sigh, "Are you saying you never intended to marry her? She's the most suitable-"

"No." he interjected, "I never intended anything like that."

Andrea sat beside James cautiously, looking to her son with despair, "Is... there someone else you intended to wed then?"

It wasn't that. In fact, he'd never even found someone he'd liked before. That however, wasn't his fault. He'd only ever been introduced to people through family matters, which made the entire thing less and less appealing. Besides, he'd only even been introduced to women. "Well... no..." he mumbled, "Not exactly..."

"Then what's the issue?" His father questioned accusingly.

John leaned forward in his seat, clasping his hands together, "Well for one thing, I don't love her!"

Silence fell over the room with criminal intent. That was a hard topic with the Watsons. While it was important to his father that the family remain healthy, and happy, sometimes marriage for love was a sensitive topic. For... personal reasons. John gripped his hands tighter, "Just because you don't love my mother doesn't mean I have to end up the same way..."

"John!" Andrea barked, "Apologize!"

"Why?" he snarked, raising his head to glare in their direction, "It's true and you know it."

No one replied. For a moment, he only sounds emitted were the puffs of his father's cigar as the room slowly clouded with smoke. Andrea flashed John a pair of sad eyes. She was distraught and helpless. "I know that you love him, that's fine. But I don't want to become my father." John told them, "I don't even want to live like this... I just want to be normal. I just want to be like anyone else."

"You're not like everyone else in the least." James replied roughly, "You are the representation of the next generation of Watsons; the underboss. There is no other-"

"...What about Harriet?" John growled without remorse.

"_Harry_ was disowned the moment he left the family."

John scoffed, "She left because you refused to accept her for who she was.."

James was angry now, squishing his cigar against the wood of the table, "_He_ was an abomination!"

John stood roughly, "What about you mum!? What do _you_ think!?"

"You will call her mother!" his father ordered, gritting his teeth as he stood at equal height. "Enough! Your behavior today is out of hand! What's gotten into you? This is a formal tradition that should be honored."

"Well maybe I don't want to live with tradition! _Dad._"

James' eyes were looking less soft, and more traitorous with every word that left John's mouth. "Get out of my sight!"

"Fine, I will!"

"Fine!"

John stormed back into the foyer, grabbing up his coat and slamming the front door behind him. "Tradition this, family that. If its all about family why the hell don't you care what I think?! I'M FAMILY!" John screamed back at the house.

He was acting childish, but he was too upset to be apologetic for it. He just needed some air, some time alone. He just needed some time away from 'family'. It got intoxicating after a point. It felt like every little thing revolved around 'family matters'. He shrugged into his jacket angrily. He only then realized that he hadn't grabbed keys, but didn't exactly feel up for walking back into the house to get them.

So he started to walk. Not exactly knowing where, but was headed into town. One thing was for certain, he stood out like a sore thumb. His suit was too posh for the parts of town he was heading into. Most of the people seemed to be in oversized coats and jeans two sizes too thin. Didn't their legs hurt? John frowned, feeling the desperate need to change. Reaching into his back pocket, he produced his wallet. Lucky he always had it with him. It was hard to get placed without a wallet, so he'd taken to the habit of always keeping it in his pants pockets.

John searched around, hoping to find a clothing store of some sorts.

* * *

><p>"James..."<p>

"Andrea.. if he's going to become the next don, he needs to learn that sometimes sacrifice is required for the sake of others in the family. This system won't run smoothly unless everyone is willing to settle now and again. This marriage will be beneficial for nearly _all_ families to maintain peace."

"But there's never been an arranged marriage between families for maintainmenship of peace before... let alone two!"

James frowned, "I'm aware."

Andrea shook her head solemnly, "He's our son James, doesn't that count for something?"

"Do you really think that I don't love you?" he asked, facing her grimly.

Andrea smiled with sad eyes, "I think we both know that it's always been that way... but I love you with my entire being. It wouldn't matter if you didn't ever feel the same in the end..."

"I do." he protested, placing a large hand over the two which sat in her lap, "I do love you Andrea. In the beginning, I was nervous because I thought you were in love with my brother. You know this."

"But an arranged marriage is different James!"

James removed his hand to stand once more, "He's our son. He was born with your will power Andrea, he will make it through." he turned his face to smile down at her, his moustache curling on its corners, "I think that this will be good for him."

She watched her husband leave the room, doubt still scratching at the back of her mind, "But he also inherited your stubbornness James..."

* * *

><p><strong>Don-The Mafia head, also known as the 'mob boss' or 'boss man'(name used by underlings).<strong>

**Harriet/Harry-Transgender (first son) who was disowned by James. (in case it was unclear)**


	4. Tall Dark and Handsome

John grinned at his reflection as he pulled the hem of his T-shirt down. It always felt good to be out of a suit and snuggled into a pair of loosened jeans. He had no idea how people could walk around with skinnies. It looked painful really... like the denim was burned into their flesh. Or that the actual leg was just jean material, fooling the world and pretending it was honestly skin and bone.

The clerk was a strawberry blonde, who smiled to him over the counter when he came out with a fresh outfit. She giggled, taking his card happily. "That looks good on you." she flirted.

"Thanks." he replied, "It feels a lot better then the suit."

She batted her lashes a couple times as she looked between him and the register, "You looked good in a suit as well though... I suppose you just look good in general."

Her giggle was almost sickening... but John smiled politely in reply. She gave him a store-brand bag to carry his discarded clothes in before scandalously jotting her number down on the back of his receipt, adding a heart at the end. John left with awkward haste after that.

It wasn't that he had anything against girls, they were pretty for certain, and it wasn't impossible to hold conversation or anything. He didn't think they were unintelligent and he didn't look down on them. There was just something with more simple appeal about men. A man would never have done something like that. They didn't really go looking for attention. That was John's type; someone who didn't really care about much (which proved to be troublesome more often then not). His type almost always turned out to be self centered assholes in the end.

John waited until he was about two blocks away from the shop before crumpling the receipt into his back pocket, his fingers skimming over the edges of his wallet. He remembered some of the street names, hoping to find something to do while he rode out his tantrum. He knew he was probably being a spoiled brat, but childish or not, he just wanted some time away from life.

He turned onto a street with an unfamiliar name, taking in every display through the windows on either side. There was a trinket shop with steam punk littered all over it's window, and a candy corner with too much pink. Brick walkway clacked beneath his shoes, encouraging him to venture further. John had only made it halfway down the street when the most heavenly aroma drifted past his nose. His mouth watered with delight and anticipation as his stomach growled hungrily. A quick bite to eat wouldn't be so terrible. He looked up at the sign, '_**Angelo's fine** **Italian **_'. With a smile, he pushed at the door.

It was a quaint little place. The room was of good size, but nothing too fancy. The waiter greeted him before ushering his guest to a seat. A couple of the single tables were fairly close together, as expected for a small place, but it wasn't terrible. The table next to him was empty anyway.

The man slipped a menu in front of him before scooting off to a small family ready to order. John watched with amusement as the mother started laughing up at him, her daughter sitting politely beside her with a big grin across her face. It was a pretty relaxing atmosphere in all honesty.

The small bell over the door jingled happily, greeting a new customer. When John looked up with curiosity, his eyes drooled over a _gorgeous_ man.

Tall dark and handsome was an understatement in his case. His hair was all but begging to have fingers raked through it, and although John didn't necessarily enjoy wearing suits, he had no problem marveling at how well it suited the stranger. Blushing, he buried his face inside the menu, peeking over a couple of times to scan his eyes over him one more time. To his delighted dismay, the waiter led the stranger into the table right next to him. There any hope he'd had chance to ogle this god in secrecy...

* * *

><p>Mary tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before knocking on the Watson's door. John had looked frightened out of his wits at the peace meeting.. marriage may have been sudden, but she was determined to woo him with her charm. She smiled to herself. Marrying John... A dreamy daze spread over her, making her rock on her heels a couple times. She had after all, been in love with him for years.<p>

"Oh, Hello Mary." Greeted Mrs. Watson, ushering her inside.

"Hello Andrea, is John home?"

"Oh, umm, actually dear he went out for a while, you understand," she mumbled, "Thinking about things."

Mary smiled politely, actually disappointed, "Well I apologize for the intrusion then. Should I come back later?"

"Well, to be honest, I don't know when he'll be back."

Mary frowned with concern, "He stormed out again didn't he?"

Andrea nodded, "You know how he is. He'll probably be back late tonight, but I wouldn't want you to sit around twiddling your thumbs in the mean time."

"It's alright.. thank you anyway."

"Would you like to stay for a cup of tea?" she smiled, inviting her into the kitchen, "Mrs. Hudson put on a fresh pot moments ago."

"Thank you."

Andrea took a seat at the kitchen table across from Mary, "No need for such formalities Mary, after all, I'm your future mother in law."

Blushing, Mary smiled, "Yes.."

"Mrs. Hudson?" Andrea called, smiling when the little lady shuffled to her side, "Would you mind getting another cup for Mary?"

* * *

><p>John still couldn't stop looking. The man hadn't ordered a meal, but sat contently at the table next to him, sipping on a cup of tea, his eyes exchanging from the window to his newspaper again and again.<p>

While the stranger was facing the window, John thanked god that he'd decided to get a view of the room when he sat down, putting him and the man face to face. Pros and cons to that?

Pros: good look at his face and his manor, easy to stare without getting noticed.

Cons: John couldn't stop himself from targeting most of his (impossibly unnoticeable) attention on him.

He was startled out of his mental T-chart when the waiter plopped a plate of creamy pasta shells in front of him. "Will that be all?" he smiled.

"Ah.. Y-yes. Thank you." John replied, dreading when the waiter took his menu away; stealing any hope he'd had of hiding himself.

The food was in fact, as delicious as it smelled, the first bite filling his mouth with delicious flavor. He'd only managed to spear a couple shells onto his fork for a second bite when there was a loud plop into the seat across from him. When John lifted his head to see who'd interrupted his ecstasy, a bucket of dread was poured mercilessly over his head, drenching him with nervousness.

"Hello," the stranger frowned, crossing his arms over his chest, "Would you care to explain why you keep staring at me?"

John dropped his fork into a sea of pasta with a noisy clunk.


	5. A Change of Pace

"Sorry!" John grinned awkwardly, fishing his fork out of the pasta before wiping it down with his napkin.

The stranger was sitting across from him casually, elbows over the table, hands supporting his chin with dignity. It was really elegant, but at the same time rather conceited.

"I apologize," he re-entered with a nervous cough, "I didn't mean to offend you."

"Oh I'm not offended." he replied with a smirk, "More... _interested_."

John swallowed a lump in his throat with effort, "O-oh?"

"Yes." he repeated, leaning back in his chair before holding out a hand, "Greg."

"John.."

"Pleasure to meet you, _John_." Greg smiled, retracting his arm. "So what brings you to Angelo's?"

John grinned, "The heavenly smell from outside drew me in." he picked up his fork again, only then remembering how hungry he was. "Yourself?"

"Angelo is an old friend of my family." he replied, reaching over to his old table to scoop up his tea. He took a polite sip before adding, "And he makes an amazing cup of English tea."

"Really? Maybe I should order one?"

Greg held out his cup, "You can try mine. No need to waste any money if it doesn't agree with you."

Smiling, John took the cup into his palms, keeping eye contact as he took a drink. He didn't really like sugar, and English tea was most certainly more sweet then it was black. However, he wasn't going to pass up the chance to put his lips over this man's cup. He shook the thought out of his head before pulling the tea away, putting it back into Greg's saucer. Something like that was grade school. He was an adult... more or less..

"Its good."

"You don't like sugar do you?" he grinned.

John blinked a few times in astonishment, "How did?-"

"While your words may say one thing, your eyebrows suggest otherwise."

"My.. eyebrows?" John questioned, raising a finger to brush over one. Maybe something was wrong with them?

"They skewed in a displeased way the moment you took a sip." he informed.

John chuckled, "That's pretty good. So what? Do you read people?"

"You could say that..." Greg smiled, "Its a fascination of mine."

"That's a pretty interesting 'fascination' to have."

Greg grinned viciously before slyly pointing a finger towards another table. There was a lovely couple sitting there, smiling at each other and they ate. "He's just had an affair, this date is his conscience telling him to do something nice for her."

"H-How can you tell?" John questioned, looking at the same people, but not noticing any of this.

"His shirt is torn in the bottom corner, and the hem is fresh, just barely covering wrinkles; so its been sitting in his closet. He's let her order a luxury meal, his is small, probably trying to keep the price down a bit. He's not used to going out to fancy places. So this is a treat. Why? Their relationship is clearly fairly new, considering the girl's makeup is heavy and her hair is fringed with how hard she's trying to impress."

"But.. couldn't she just be dressed nice for the place?"

"Good point, but this place is small, and not all that formal. Its for his sake. It's not a first date because of their casual talking and tone, so its special for her. Why would he do that at this point? There's guilt in his eyes every time he takes a sip of wine, and he's had multiple glasses, trying to get drunk? Or at least release some of the tension in his back. You can see by the way he keeps rolling his shoulder he's sore. It could be just laboring pains, but he's not a hard worker. He's got a pen in his pocket clearly within reach."

John had finished looking at the couple, and had now focused his attention clearly on Greg, who continued to explain why the man was a desk clerk. "You're amazing.." John sighed, not even realizing he'd said it out loud until Greg stared at him, flushed.

"Well.. thank you."

"What?" John frowned, noticing the bits of pink in the other man's cheeks, "Does no one compliment you?"

Greg smirked, "Not usually."

"Well, what _do_ they say?"

He cocked his smile in a way that could only be described as a smug grin, "Piss off."

The two of them laughed whole heartedly. John couldn't remember a time when he'd been more relaxed then he was at that time.

* * *

><p>Mary looked up at the clock from her seat in the kitchen. It was already eight, and John wasn't home. He usually came back before nine or so, he liked his rest. She pouted and looked down into her long since empty tea cup. "I think I should go home Andrea.. thank you for the lovely time though."<p>

Andrea smiled from her side of the table, "Alright. I'm sorry you didn't manage to catch John." she apologized, "I'll let him know you stopped by."

"Thank you." she smiled, standing, coat in hand. She turned to the housekeeper, "Thank you for the lovely tea Mrs. Hudson."

"Oh never you mind it dear. It's my pleasure." he grinned, untying her apron from behind her back.

Mary left silently after that, sighing up at the darkened sky. She was upset that John hadn't come back. She'd made herself beautiful in hopes to charm him.

...She really did love John. Ever since they were kids their parents would meet. They played together from their diaper years to grade school. While mafias were generally a 'one family deal', the Watsons and Morstans were always with one another. James and her father were almost like brothers, and were always hoping for a way to bind their families. Mary and John were the obvious choice when it came to marriage, considering Harriet's transformation. She let out a loud sigh as he pulled out her phone, dialing a ride home.

* * *

><p>"It's getting late..." John frowned, looking at the clock on the wall of the restaurant. "Maybe I should be getting home?"<p>

Greg smiled, "Or we could continue somewhere else." he offered.

John smiled. A change of pace would be nice for now. He was allowed to enjoy himself now and again.. so he nodded, fighting Greg when he refused to let John pay the tab. Finally he gave in, happy yet guilty when he pulled out his wallet.

They were on their way to a hotel that Greg stayed at often. This entire place was strange territory to John, so he really didn't know much about any of it. He decided to trust the man's judgment and play along.

Waiting by the restaurant door, John looked out onto the street. It had gotten dark faster then he'd expected, but London was always busy, and cars lit the streets with their bright headlights. He smiled to himself when Greg joined him at his side, whispering something about the beauty of human stupidity as he pushed the handle open, guiding them out.

He was strange, but didn't seem to care what John thought of him. It both enticed and irritated John, but he didn't care. This was just for a change of pace. Just to let himself relax. It was just a one night thing... right?


	6. The Capo Trio

James frowned when he looked across the breakfast table. John's seat was empty. "So he didn't come home after all.."

Andrea kept her eyes in her cup, "No, he didn't. You don't suppose.." she raised a hand to her forehead worriedly, "You don't suppose something happened do you?"

"He can take care of himself Andrea. This is probably just a childish stunt." James groaned, raising a jam-spread piece of toast to his lips before taking an angry crunch. His chewing upset the otherwise silent home, "Did the other's get breakfast out today?"

It was Mrs. Hudson's turn to interject, she grinned, "Those boys wouldn't know good cooking if God himself said it was so." she set a dish of eggs onto the table, "I think they went out to The Wolseley earlier this morning."

"Do you know when they'll be back?" James asked, scooping a serving f the fresh eggs onto his plate, "They've got work to do. Luke starts his first day as a Capo today and I want the other boys to help him get prepared for it."

"Well it's not as if they tell _me_ anything." she braved, "As if I wasn't their housekeeper. Those boys are like sons to me, but do they think the same?"

Andrea smiled, glad that she'd managed to lighten the mood. James smirked with amusement as well. Mrs. Hudson was good with these things, and hardly ever had to try to cheer up the entire household. Andrea sat herself back against the chair, "You know they're just like children Mrs. Hudson. Most days I feel like they're closer to four years old rather then twenty."

"Speaking of age! It's Harold's twenty-first next week day isn't it?"

James grinned, "He's been raving about going to his first pub."

"But he drinks the lot anyway! He'll drink himself into next year once he becomes _legal_." she giggled, picking up an empty tray before making her way to the far sink, proud of herself. There wasn't a single frown left in her kitchen.

* * *

><p>The drapes did a terrible job of shielding John's eyes from the brutal morning sun. He groaned, twisting himself in the sheets. It had been a long night and he didn't want to have to wake up just yet. Greg was probably gone by now though, so he'd take advantage of the room.<p>

"Good morning."

John's eyes snapped open. Greg was sitting on the other side of the bed, still half-naked in the sheets, a newspaper in hand. "Y-you're still here?"

Greg frowned at him, "Sorry, did you want me to leave?"

"Well, no, it's not that... I just thought this was going to be a one night-"

"That wasn't my intention in the least." he replied, setting his paper onto the nightstand at his side, "Was it yours?"

"N-no! I mean... I just thought that was how it worked.. this was my first time.."

Smiling, Greg shrunk down into the bed, propping himself onto an elbow, "I realized that last night."

John blushed fiercely, "Is... was I that bad?"

"No. Quite the contrary in fact." he grinned.

John was grateful. He was embarrassed, but it still felt good to be around Greg. He made John feel special and interesting. Not just another family member... "Thank you.."

Greg wrapped an arm behind John, pulling him closer before planting a small kiss on his temple. "Are you sore anywhere?"

"A.. a little bit. It's not terrible though."

"Glad." he turned, reaching over the end of the bed and into his coat pocket. Greg cell phone was semi-plain, but had a sleek elegance within it's black cover. "I'd love to stay longer, but I have someplace I need to be soon."

"Oh..." John gushed, "It's fine."

"Hey." he spoke, "I don't intend to just leave. You're too interesting for that."

Was that a good thing? Greg was still strange, but at the same time, there was something hidden that John had the insane desire to unlock. Some sort of secret behind his eyes. It sort of reminded him of himself. "Alright.."

"You do have a mobile?"

"Oh! Yes, yes I do." John mumbled, trying to find where he put it.

He tumbled out of the bed, not caring that he was in nothing more then underwear. His clothes were across the room. It hurt a little to walk, but he didn't want to let on. Greg was very kind, and was a gentle man. He tried his best to make sure John was in no pain. The memory of the previous night made John's cheeks hot. Clumping his clothes together, he returned to the bed, sitting on its edge as he fished out his phone.

"Here" he offered, holding out his cell, "Let's exchange them."

"Yours buzzed." Greg smirked, handing it back after he'd inserted his contact.

John frowned, reading the I.D.

**Harold: John, where are you? We're initiating Luke today. We need you!**

He ignored it, angry when it buzzed again.

**Mike: You're going to be here for this right? Luke wants you here. **

**Harold: Wherever you are get your arse to Wolseley!**

John swore that if his phone buzzed one more time he'd smash it.

"It looks as if you've got somewhere to be as well." Greg chuckled.

"Yeah.." he groaned. "Family thing."

John watched Greg's face grow sour, "I _hate_ my family."

John was silent for a moment. Taking that sentence in. He looked over to the other end of the room, finding nothing to look at, but wanting to stare anyway. He sighed, "I know the feeling... My family is a little too much sometimes."

Greg turned to him, "It's irritating."

"Invigorating!" John barked, a smile on his face when Greg chuckled again, "I'm glad I met you."

"I feel the same. It's nice."

"Will I see you again?" John asked, a little worried that he'd lose.. whatever it was that they had.

Greg smiled happily, ruffling John's hair a bit, "Certainly."

* * *

><p><strong>Capo- Similar to a lieutenant, each run their own group of soldiers, and are usually in charge of a specific part of a family territory. Capos are generally made up of direct family members to the boss, or his underboss. <strong>

**I plan to find a way to display my family tree setting for you guys, that last thing I want is for it to get confusing. If anyone knows a way to post an image let me know! I'd be very grateful! **


	7. Gingers and Blondes

**Quick F.Y.I, The Wolseley is a real place. If you want to see what it looks like exactly, I suggest Google image or finding their official site. I tried, but it's really a grand place... *sigh*~ ANYWAY! On with the show!**

* * *

><p>John was giddy when he waltzed into The Wolseley, a famous food stop in London. It was rather posh to be honest, with a drippy chandelier centered in the middle, and a bold Victorian feel to it. You understand, the high priced, small portioned type of food. He asked the lady in the front if there was a table waiting for him. She led him around the building, while it was a regular spot for them, the large counter that circled the room always managed to catch his eye. The entire place was set up strangely, but that only intensified its grand feel.<p>

The boys grinned widely when they saw him, standing to greet John warmly. "Glad you made it!" smiled Mike, patting him on the back.

"You're slow..." Harold teased, pointing over to Luke, who sat opposite, "He was worried you wouldn't show."

The three boys were siblings, Harold and Luke; the two youngest, and Mike; who was about two years older than the lot of them. John and Luke were the same age, so Luke ended up looking to him for support on most things.

Now Luke, he was shy, and a little timid, his hobbies included hiding his nose in the spine of a book or silently staring into space. He was a tall and rather skinny ginger, like Harold and Emily.

John frowned, realizing that she wasn't there, "Is Emily not coming?"

"No way!" Harold grinned, "This is a man's initiation!"

Harold was always like that, very excited about most things, and loved to mock Luke and Emily often, since they were the twins of the family. Poor Emily was just as bad as Luke was, and they often shared time together literally doing nothing but reading. The three got along well though, they were just similar in every way.

Then there was Mike. He was the big brother figure, but somehow different. It felt like at times he was more of a best friend then a brother, if that made any sense. His hair was blonde like John's, but he was tall. He liked excitement even more then Harold did, which often led to the two of them getting into trouble. "Come on then!" Mike smiled, ushering John to a seat, "Let's eat!"

John settled into his seat carefully, hoping no one would notice how hard he tried not to cringe when his bum made contact with the cushion. Mike shoved a menu in front of John, telling him all about the steak he was going to order, like it was a beautiful woman really… "Tender and sweet…" he gushed.

Luke smiled a little when he noticed the sandwiches. He put down his menu gently before grinning over to the others, "So..." Harold started, nudging Luke's arm, "Capo huh?"

Luke puffed his chest out a little, "I- I can do this."

"Of course you can." John smiled, placing a warm hand on his shoulder, "Besides," he added, "with these two goons at your side, I doubt you'll be able to fail even if you wanted to."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harold teased.

John stuck his tongue out from across the table, earning a hearty laugh from Mike, "He's not wrong though, Luke. We've got your back."

"Thanks guys." He smiled, "That gives me a lot more confidence."

"So then _John_." Came a devilish voice from the other side of the table, "How's the engagement?"

"Shut up Harold." John sulked.

Mike supported him, "Harold…"

"What?" he shrugged innocently, "It's a legitimate question." He leaned over the table on his elbows, like a girl getting a juicy new piece of gossip, "Cards on the table."

John glared at the table, "I thought we were here to talk about _Luke_ not my engagement."

"It can be both." Mike answered, "It feels like you're one edge over it. You know were here for you if you need anything John."

John let out a low, unimpressed sort of laugh, "Can you cancel a wedding?"

"But… it was decided by the representatives…" squeaked Luke, regretting having said anything when John turned to look his way, a warning look in his eyes.

"I know."

"Is that why you didn't go home last night?" Mike frowned, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Who told you?"

He rolled his eyes, "Mary of course. She called me late last night wondering if you'd made it home safely. So I called Andrea. She said there hadn't been a sign of you." He uncrossed his arms as the food came to the table, the waitress interrupting them with plates of steaming food, "We went by the house to pick you up this morning, and there was still nothing." He glared, picking up his fork as he stared at the steak with murderous intent.

"So?"

Mike started to fork at his meat, finally bothering to spear a small chunk, "_So_, do you know how hard it is to tell Mrs. Hudson you're not interested in her cooking?" he grinned.

Luke smiled, a happy mouthful of cucumber and tuna in his mouth. He swallowed before adding, "She was so persistent. We were lucky to get away with just a cup of coffee!"

"Bet you she poisons our next meal." Harold leered, biting down into a piece of lamb.

John raised an eyebrow at the dishes at the table, suddenly realizing he was the only one that had actually ordered breakfast. "What's with the weird entrees?"

Little pieces of lamb spat from Harold's mouth as he spoke, "It's noon!"

Luke giggled a bit, finishing his first sandwich before joking, "You must have woken up late."

Harold shot John sly eyes, "With a woman?"

"Shut up you two." Mike spat, rather weirdly out of the mood. "Wherever he was doesn't concern us. It's not like he'd do something like that anyway. He's engaged to Mary!" he replied, forking a mammoth sized bite into his mouth.

John felt his stomach turn, "Hah… yeah. That's pretty low…"

"Exactly."

They went back to eating, finishing in record time between the awkward silence at the table. Mike insisted he pay, making Luke and John argue otherwise while Harold shoved his hands into his pockets smugly. He was perfectly fine with letting his brother pay.

"Well then," Mike smiled, "Dad's expecting us home for Luke's prepping by now."

"Is Uncle Cory still overlooking that sort of thing?"

"Of course!" Mike beamed proudly, "Just because he's a family made consigliere doesn't mean he intends to retire early! He'll take that position to the grave!"

Luke and Harold nodded in agreement, "He's tough like that." Added Harold.

"You however," Mike began, "Need to get home. Andrea was worried sick."

"Alright…" John sighed. "Don't suppose you lot have any words of wisdom?"

"Luke and I might… as for Harold…"

"Hey!"

* * *

><p>John waited until the trio had packed into a car before flipping out his phone. He searched through his contacts for Greg's name, a small smile coming to his lips before he pressed the new message button.<p>

**John: Have any free time? I don't want to go home just yet.**

He flipped it shut, holding it tight to his chest as he started to walk in the direction of home, buying time. When he felt the buzz he jolted, a bit surprised for such a fast reply.

**We're sorry, this number is currently unavailable or is offline. **

He frowned. See you again huh? "My busted number disagrees with you." He scoffed. Upset that he'd been duped. "It really was a one night thing huh…" he shrugged, "Figures."

John walked a little further before finally giving in and hailing a cab.

* * *

><p><strong>Consigliere- a position of high priority decision making, usually a non-relative position. <strong>


	8. Marry More

John was dreading opening the front door of his home, but he was too far to turn back. His foot was already on the first step up. The original three step walk-up started to feel like twenty, which easily turned into thirty. It was painful almost, making his gut twist with regret when he thought about all the ways his father would yell at him, or when he thought about how his mother would sit silently, just staring at him coldly.

He loved his mother, and always tried to please his father.. but he'd made some bad decisions the last two days, and he was afraid to face them because of it. When he finally worked up the courage to force himself past the doorway, he was greeted by a familiar, and kind face.

"Oh John!" Mrs. Hudson welcomed, taking his pale hand in hers, "We've been worried about you! Where have you been?"

John opened his mouth to speak but was cut off, "Oh never mind that, just get yourself inside. I'll fix you a nice cup of tea. Calm your nerves a bit." She pulled him into the kitchen with determination, releasing him long enough to fill the kettle with water, "Have a seat! It won't take too long. I'll call Andrea down. She'll be wanting to give you a big hug I'm sure." she smiled, turning to leave the room.

John let out a heavy breath; he was fine. He let himself settle into the wooden chair, staring out the window as Mrs. Hudson returned, Andrea at her side.

"John!" Andrea breathed with relief, waiting for him to stand before wrapping her motherly arms around him, "I was worried when you didn't come home. Did you stay within the territory?"

"I'm fine mum." John smiled into her shoulder, pulling back, pleased with a warm welcome home, "I wandered a bit, but it was all fine in the end."

Andrea's smile faded a fragment, "I know that you're aware of the family boundaries, but you didn't stray into Holmes territory did you?"

"I'm fine mother. No need to worry." he replied, avoiding her question to the best of his abilities. He had in fact entered it, but nothing bad had happened to him... unless you wanted to count the one night stand. Nothing life threatening happened...

"Alright then..." she mumbled, holding John's hands in her own, "I'm just happy you returned."

"And father?"

Andrea smiled to him, "He may come across harsh John, but he was as worried as I was. It's different when you're part of a _family_; there's more danger when you are off on your own. Thank God you weren't harmed in any way."

"I can take care of myself. It wasn't a huge deal, mother."

James stood in the kitchen doorway solemnly, "It _is_ a 'huge deal' John." he spoke firmly.

John turned, surprised to see him standing there.

"I know you don't enjoy this lifestyle, but you were born into it. Being a part of the Watson family means that you're expected to be aware of what you're doing. Andrea is right. If you wandered into Holmes territory they have every right to kill you."

"No one has right to kill anyone." he retorted, "That's murder."

"That's war."

John tore his hands from Andrea's briskly, turning his entire body to face his father, "Why are we even at war in the first place?! Isn't that what the peace meeting is for?" his arms were everywhere, helping him tell James off.

"It's been this way since before even _I _was born."

"You could at least try!" he boomed, exploding with all the frustration he'd been stock piling inside, "I hate it all! I hate being forced to live like this just because I was born '_in the family_' when it isn't a family at all!" he cuffed a hand around his own wrist, "It's a prison, and I'm an inmate!"

The room fell silent. Andrea and Mrs. Hudson exchanged glances between one another with grief as the men glared straight into the other's eye. It was a test of power. Who was right or wrong? James' mustache was just as furrowed as his eyebrows, and his once wise eyes were replaced with a look of betrayal. His voice was rough and demanding when he finally spoke, "Now you listen here boy." John flinched, "I am the father of this household. If you want to leave... then I give you a choice." Andrea was as worried as a mother could be, "If you marry, then you'll be permitted to take your wife and create a home away from this one."

"That's my ticket out?"

"The _condition_..." he added, "Your wife must be Mary Morstan."

"Father!"

James raised a hand to silence him, "I've made my decision. It's time for you to grow up!"

"I don't want to marry her!" he begged, "I want to fall in love!"

"You will in time." he reminded, firmly raising his chin as he looked down on his son, "Marry her, and I'll never ask anything of you again. You can leave, you can run away, but I won't ever search for you. You will no longer be considered my son."

* * *

><p>Mycroft frowned at his mobile, turning to his father as they lounged in the living room of the Holmes house. "Do you really believe that he'll cooperate?"<p>

his father smiled gingerly, "Sherlock and Irene have always gotten along well. I don't see why he wouldn't."

"Because he's irresponsible! I'd expect him to walk around in diapers if I didn't know better."

Sherlock smiled smugly as he entered the room, "You wouldn't know _better_ if the diapers told you themselves."

"Welcome home Sherlock!" his father greeted, starting to stand.

"It's alright, don't get up." he told him, his grin vanishing. He turned his attention to Mycroft, "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes." Mycroft frowned, playing with the tip of his cane, "It's about the annual peace meeting- the one you _failed_ to attend once again."

Sherlock plopped himself down into a chair opposite his brother and father, "Family matters have nothing to do with me."

"They do now." Mycroft retorted, nearly glaring at his immature sibling, "The representatives decided that you should be a part of family affairs, since you live under our roof, eat our food, etcetera etcetera."

He frowned, "What does that mean?"

Lifting the stick of his cane, Mycroft grinned with smug triumph, "It means, brother of mine, that you'll be marrying shortly."

"Marrying?!" he growled, clenching the arms of his chair, "What would that solve?"

"It was decided that you're to marry Irene Adler, I'm sure you're familiar with her." he boasted, childishly testing Sherlock, "This will not only prove that you've earned your right to family materials, but it will make up for every peace meeting you've missed in the past. The representatives will forgive you."

"Won't my marriage to an Adler upset the balance?"

"We thought that over as well." Mycroft grinned, "The Watson boy will be marrying a Morstan to maintain it. Families will be jointed, concluding in a greater peace, and well as profitable land custody. It's beneficial to all parties."

"I'm sure the Watson boy is as keen as I am..." he snarled.

Their father shook his head sadly, "Sherlock... you need this. This is your chance to make for yourself. We can't support your antics much longer if you're not willing to step up and help in return. It's a duty."

"I thought we agreed I was a lone wolf."

"And you can be again." Mycroft nodded, "Once the marriage takes place I'm sure you and Irene can come to an... arrangement. Seeing as she's not exactly abstinent herself."

"We don't even have engagement rings and already you're mocking my fiancée Mycroft." Sherlock smiled.

Mycroft replied with malicious intent, "Joke all you want, brother of mine, but this is final."

Sherlock stood angrily, "It's only final if I agree."

"Which you do."

"I don't!"

Mycroft scowled, "The life of whores and freelance excitement is over Sherlock. Come back to reality."

"How dull..." Sherlock turned to leave, ignoring when they tried to all him back. He walked away as casually as he could, even bothering to flip out his phone on the off chance it would make it look like he cared even less. "Chew on that." he mentally cursed his brother, scrolling through his contacts since he had nothing to do as he walked. The name from the previous night rolled into his vision, and he paused his scrolling to look at it.

He'd expected to get rid of it later, as he did usually, but.. he remembered how much John had lightened his spirits. He could use that now.

**Sherlock: **|

He frowned, suddenly remembering that he'd used an alias again. He tried to remember who's name he'd borrowed. "Ah, yes. Greg." he grinned, typing the name into his phone. Greg Lestrade was a police based soldier of the Holmes family, and someone he'd managed to make acquaintances with.

**Greg: Hello again. I'd like to talk if you're free. **

He shut the flap of his phone, heading outside. He didn't like his house very much, and despised his family even more, but now they'd pulled a final straw. He was a lone wolf, who would never fall in love. He lived for the moment, and wasn't to be tied down to anything, or anyone.


	9. Whatever it is We Have

Winds can be harsh, especially mid-autumn winds that crack and whip beside your head, deafening you momentarily until you decide to turn your head. John pulled the snuff of his scarf over his nose, saving himself from the weather's antics before staring down at his phone. John had been taken back when his phone buzzed earlier, showing an unidentified number. When he read it, he felt his heart stop for a moment. Their entire relationship had been flip flopped between a one night stand and a new relationship since they met, and his head was in a jumble.

**Greg: Hello again. I'd like to talk if you're free. **

The number wasn't the same one he'd been given, but he was willing to forgive and forget if it meant another day with him. Greg seemed to be the only one who understood him now-a-days, and Greg was hardly ever there. What did that say about his family?

**John: Oh, hi.****. I tried contacting you before, but the number you gave me before didn't work. **

His palm vibrated again before he had the chance to shove the phone back into his pocket.

**Greg: Sorry for that, I gave you the wrong number… that one is for my work, and I'm used to handing it out more often when I give out my mobile address. Please accept my apologies.**

He smiled half heartedly, hoping that what he said was true.. but.. if it was, then how did he go about doing his work with a broken phone? It was still suspicious in John's eyes, so he told Greg as much. They exchanged messages back and forth for a while before John finally gave in, deciding he'd rather spend his time pleasantly with Greg, rather then bickering over why his message hadn't been able to go through with the first number. He had enough bickering at home...

**John: Alright.. Would you like to meet up? I could use a distraction today.**

**Greg: I know the feeling. I'm in a similar situation. Angelo's? Or the hotel?**

John blushed, deciding that his message sounded like it was more of a booty call then anything else. He shook the thought. The night couldn't end that way this time. Mike had managed to make him feel like an ass earlier, and he didn't need his conscience blaming him for the same thing twice. He was technically engaged... his thoughts trailed back into a fit over weather or not he should Marry Mary, making him feel suddenly tired and desperate to avoid thinking about it.

**John: Angelo's. **

He replied, telling himself that it would just be a meeting between friends.

**Greg: Half past? **

John grinned at his phone before pressing the button, then mentally cursed himself.

**John: It's a date.**

* * *

><p>Angelo's wasn't particularly crowded this time around, maybe they were more popular with dinner orders as opposed to lunch. Sherlock greeted John with a smile when he entered trough the door, making the little bell ting with happiness once more. John followed Sherlock's smile to the table, feeling his stomach tingle when he stood to help John into his seat-like any gentlemen would.<p>

Sherlock took the seat opposite, pushing the menu forward to John as they started to talk. "Good to see you again John."

"..Likewise." he blushed, feeling like a grade-schooler. He lifted the menu to his face, leaving enough room to look over at Sherlock every now and then, his eyes poking over the top. "So, how is... stuff..."

Sherlock let out a short laugh, "Stuff?"

"S-sorry... I guess I feel nervous for some reason."

John watched Sherlock lean back in his chair, smiling at him. "No need to be. I won't bite."

"_Out_side of the bedroom." he chuckled.

Sherlock raised a brow with a smirk, "You're the one who chose the restaurant."

"Because this I'm not here for a booty call."

Sherlock leaned forward onto his elbows, linking his fingers user his chin with an amused look, "Oh? Prey tell."

"I like being with you." John replied, keeping his eyes firmly placed on his menu, "It's a good change of pace."

"..Is that all?"

John wanted to slide down more and hide his face. He knew he liked 'Greg', but he wasn't about to tell him that, and there was no way he could mention Mary and his father. That's what high school girls do. They complain. "We're friends aren't we?" he replied, trying to tame the conversation.

"Well I'd think we were more then _that_." Sherlock frowned, "Or do you sleep with all of your friends?"

"I'm not a prostitute!" John nearly yelled, dropping his menu onto the table.

A few people from a table nearby tilted their heads their way, trying to secretly listen in, figure out what the commotion was. John sighed, "I'm just a little lonely I guess. I know that our... whatever it is we have, is weird. It's just... I don't even know."

"Words are dull anyway." he scoffed, leaning back again with an uninterested vibe. He turned his attention to the couple at the other table who was trying to eavesdrop, and grinned. "We have an audience."

John lifted his eyes in the direction Sherlock gestured towards, taking in the two women who whispered to one another. He groaned, "Why is everyone always so nosy?" he asked, almost pouting.

Sherlock tilted his lips into a smug grin, "Want to _really_ give them something to whisper about?"

"Like?"

Using his finger, Sherlock beckoned John closer so that he could whisper. When John leaned in however, Sherlock took him by surprise; pulling him into a heated kiss over the table. After getting over the initial shock, John let in, relaxing his shoulders and shutting his eyes. He raised his hand to hold onto the hand that cupped his cheek. When they finally pulled away, they bumped foreheads lightly, perfectly content with staying like that, "Greg..."

Sherlock frowned. He'd actually gotten a little caught up there for a second. He'd completely forgotten that this man knew him under an alias. He turned his eyes towards the girls, grinning when he saw them, mouths agape as one dropped her fork. John chuckled when he noticed, making Sherlock smile again. He wanted to tell him his real name. He brought his head back slowly, looking John straight in the face, "John.." he started, "I uh... I have something to tell you."

John looked to him curiously, "Yes?"

"I... well.. I just wanted to say that-"

"Alright then." Angelo smiled, licking the tip of his pen as he stared at John, "What'll you be having?"

Sherlock turned his head away awkwardly. That had failed hadn't it?

"Oh, I'll take the Chicken Alfredo please." he smiled, handing the menu to him. "And a glass of water if you please.."

Angelo scribbled onto his pad, "Just a cup of tea as per usual?" Angelo asked, "Or do you plan to eat with your date?" he smiled, sending him a light wink, "That was quite a display earlier." John blushed.

"No thank you." Sherlock replied, "I'm not very hungry."

Angelo shook his head, "You never are!" He shoved the pad into his apron pocket, "How's your father? Still well?"

"Fine."

"And that cake-loving brother of yours?" Angelo laughed.

"Still dieting." Sherlock smirked.

Angelo nodded at John politely, "Sorry.. I tend to get a bit carried away sometimes, I'll let you two finish. The food will be out soon."

Sherlock started to get nervous, Angelo was going to leave and then he'd have to start telling John about himself. It felt grossly out of character to be nervous, and he didn't like the feeling in his stomach. He started to dread the moment Angelo walked away. "So," John began, "turning his attention back to Sherlock, "What were you going to tell me?"

He looked so innocent and trusting. Now he felt guilty, "I.. I just wanted to say that I liked your jumper. Do you wear it often?"

John laughed, "Well, thank you. It's more comfortable then good looking I'm afraid, but I prefer it that way."

"It looks good, no need to worry."

John smiled, shaking his head, "I don't know how you do it."

"Do what?" he frowned.

"Cheer me up!" John grinned, staring at Sherlock dead on, "Each time we've met I've been in a bad mood, but you always manage to make me feel better!" he shut his eyes a little bit, hoping he was allowed to say what he wanted to say next, "Maybe its a sign."

Sherlock chuckled, "Well alright Johanna."

"No, I'm serious!" he laughed, shoving Sherlock's shoulder playfully, "I.. I like you a lot."

Sherlock's chuckling died down a little bit. "I know we've only met twice, and.. maybe you're not as interested in me as I am in you.. but.. I do like you." John continued, "I know it's girly!"

"John."

"I mean, I feel like a high school girl all the time around you.."

"John." Sherlock repeated.

"But.. I think we could have a shot, I mean, I hope so and-"

"_John._"

John looked over to him sadly, and it made Sherlock want to jump over the table and tackle him into a hug. He felt protective over this man, and was very attracted to him. They were compatible, and if he was honest with himself... he liked John too. Sherlock let out a heavy sigh. He was engaged now. John didn't even know his name! He would _not_ bring an outsider into his hellish world. Not John. John was too innocent for it. The mafia life would eat him up alive. "I can't." he finally said.

He didn't want to look across the table.

John nodded. "It's.. fine." He stood suddenly, "I'm not very hungry anymore though.. so I think I'll just go home."

"John..."

"I said I'm going home." he barked, he turned for the door, stopping only for a moment to look back to the table, "Goodnight Greg."

Sherlock sunk down into the seat miserably, rubbing his temple in soothing circles. This was probably for the best. A crush is a crush, nothing serious. They weren't in love or anything. Sherlock Holmes didn't fall in love. _Ever_. It was a dangerous disadvantage in his world. Love made you weak, crushes made you weak...

_John_ was starting to make him weak.

* * *

><p>John glared at his phone when it buzzed, half expecting it to be Greg, but found himself disappointed when it wasn't all the same. Mike's name popped up on his message display. He clicked it angrily.<p>

**Mike: There's a meeting tomorrow with all of the grooms and brides to start arrangements. Andrea told me about today, are you alright? I know you're nervous. Did you decide what you want to do?**

John felt angry at Sherlock, and didn't ever want to speak to 'Greg' again. So he started to click the buttons, pressing hard on every letter before slamming his thumb on the send button.

**John: I'll go tomorrow, and I'll marry Mary.**


	10. Sherlock Holmes

**This chapter has been edited, sorry for the stupid mistakes... It was a late night and I was too tired to edit it... This story doesn't have a beta so I'm sorry if there are _still_ mistakes, but I tried. Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

><p>John refused to look over at the man in the seat next to him. He and his father hadn't exchanged so much as a word since the fight in the kitchen. There was nothing but dead silence. Andrea, as much as she wanted, couldn't make it to the meeting thanks to a call from the hospital. Her mother started throwing things at the aids, screaming bloody murder. John rubbed his hand with the opposite thumb, glaring out the window.<p>

He wanted his mother to be there instead of James, or better yet, go with her to the hospital. He'd told Mike the previous night that he'd agreed to the marriage, but.. his stomach was threatening to fight back. Marriage was a permanent thing, something that's supposed to happen between you and someone you love.. proving how much you want to be with one another. Its meant for _love, _not.. politics.

James let out a heavy sigh, "What I said yesterday was rash.."

Street noises filled the silence as they drove, the limousine gliding across the pavement. John continued to glare out the window in anger. That was all he had to say? John was dealing with drama left and right all because of his family. He'd just lost the first person he'd liked in a long time, he was forced to get married and his father had practically kicked him out of the house. 'What I said yesterday was rash'? That wasn't an apology at all. It was just a reminder of how much he wanted to leave. John had been so full of emotions lately he could barely keep himself from crying or screaming over little things. It was easy to blow. Scream or cry, he didn't know which he wanted to do first.

"I still want you as my son..."

The statement caught John by surprise, and every angry bone in his body turned to putty within an instant.

James let out a short laugh, "When you were little you saw your uncle Cory practicing his shooting and wanted me to teach you how to hold a gun.. and because of that, I thought that you'd love being a part of this world when you grew up," his smile didn't waver as he continued, "Time changed my opinion. Son, I know you don't want to be here, but this is important for everyone's safety." he turned his face to John, "If peace isn't kept..."

John felt his eyes water. He didn't want to cry in front of his father, so he focused his eyes on the roof of the car and took a couple deep breaths, "I-" his voice cracked. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat, "I know it is."

"I know you don't want to be married, and I know you don't want me as your father..." James continued.

John turned his head so quickly James thought it would pop right off, "No! That's not it, I-"

"But I want you to know," he interrupted, "that I will always consider you my son. My doors will always be open to you when you need them to be."

The first tear fell so silently it was as if it had never happened. John felt himself lose breath before bursting. Everything he'd been frustrated over was released in his tears. He never cried, and god forbid he cry around his father.. but he couldn't stop it. He didn't know if he was sad or happy, but he just needed to let everything out. "Th- thank you!" he cried, nearly falling over onto the middle seat, barely managing to use a hand to prop himself up. James looked about ready to cry himself, turning to that he could place both of his hands firmly against John's shoulders and into his lower neck. He pulled his son's head closer, causing their foreheads to touch lightly, "My boy.."

"Father..." he wept, his arms threatening to give way beneath him.

James smiled to him, "It's Dad."

John's laugh sounded wet with tears, and well needed. He nodded feverishly before speaking, testing the word out of his own mouth, "Dad."

* * *

><p>John's eyes were dry and red when he followed his father up to the large double-swinging doors in front of the building. His suit was still as constricting as always, but it felt like less of a big deal when James pressed a soothing hand against the back of his upper arm. "I believe in you Jonathan."<p>

John's collar started to feel tight again as his nervousness clouded his mind. He really did hate suits. John entered the familiar room; it was the same room they'd used for the peace meeting. He shook his head as he entered, straightening his tie on instinct. The actual meeting area was empty this time, and the bare room felt even larger then he'd remembered it.

Towards the middle of the room the representatives and their daughters were circled up. Thomas stood with Mary, Mrs. Adler with Irene. The Holmes family was late _again_. John and his father joined the small circle of people, Thomas greeting James warmly once again.

"Hello John." Mary smiled, "Are you doing better?"

John's expression was apologetic, "Oh yes, thank you for dropping by, and I'm sorry I never found the time to call you. Luke's initiation took up some time, and there were... family issues."

She grinned, "I understand. There's no need to apologize. Mike clued me in on most of it, and I don't blame you for not contacting me." she turned to the empty standing spot between her and Irene, "The Holmes still aren't here yet?"

"Sherlock will be here." Irene grinned, flattening her dress against her thighs with her hands, "He'll come."

"How do you know?" John smirked, drawing a hand up to his waist.

Irene scoffed, "Because I know Sherlock. He may not like these sorts of things, but he knows what he's doing."

"We're going to talk over there." Thomas included, touching his daughter's shoulder lightly. "Call me if you need me."

The representatives walked a few feet further away, and began whispering amongst themselves.

"Well this is tedious." Irene frowned, poking her head around John's head so that she could see the door better, "So, you two, tell me about your engagement."

Mary blushed, "Well.. we haven't really talked much as you may have heard..."

John stepped a little closer to Mary, as if trying to shield her from Irene's attacks, "It's going fine." he placed a hand in the small of Mary's back supportively, "And yours?" he retorted.

Irene folded her arms, "Well don't you love birds look cute..." she pouted her lip, "Sherlock hasn't even texted me... you'd think he'd respond to all the ones I sent him! But no... he's probably been running around with some new whore."

"Does he sleep around?" John questioned.

"Not everyone's as saintly as you two virgins." she teased, coming closer to Mary and walking her fingers up the girl's arm, "He likes to play almost as much as I do. In fact, I've heard he likes to use fake names." she giggled mischievously, pulling her fingers back with one swift flick of the wrist, "It's pretty sexy."

John shook his head, "I'm sure you two will be very good together."

"Oh, now don't be like that." she grinned, turning herself away from Mary and into John. "You know... I could fix that little virginity problem of yours..."

"Stop it Irene." Mary barked, putting herself between them defensively.

The door behind then opened, and Irene grinned. "About time you boys showed up." she pushed past John before he could turn around, wrapping her arms around the mysterious younger Holmes before John could get a look at his face. Mycroft strolled over to where the representatives were gathered, bowing his head politely. "I apologize for our tardiness."

Irene peeled herself from Sherlock, still pursing her lips seductively. John's eyes widened when he laid eyes on the familiar figure. He wasn't smiling like he usually did, and his.. John's thoughts shut down for a moment. In front of him was Sherlock Holmes, tall, dark and handsome. More specifically, _his_ tall, dark and handsome. It was Greg. _Greg_, was Sherlock Holmes! The fiancé of Irene Adler, his family's sworn enemy! John's mouth fell open with shock.

Sherlock didn't notice him until they'd circled up. John was staring directly at him, wide eyed and consumed in questions. Sherlock let his lips part. John was _here_. John _Watson_! He wanted to slap himself. They'd never really exchanged last names.. but he should have guessed it. He was brilliant, but had no clue whatsoever, that the John he had taken time to get to know, was in fact his rival.

"Well then." Mycroft began. "As you're all aware, we're here on behalf of the first marriages ever decided anonymously by the family representatives in the History of London's annual peace meetings."

"Who put _you_ in charge?" Thomas scowled.

Mycroft lifted his nose proudly, "No one stepped up to the position before I did."

Thomas and Mycroft bickered amongst themselves as John and Sherlock made constant eye contact, each staring blankly across the circle at the other. John's hand started to extend, but he retracted before anyone besides the two of them could notice. Sherlock finally managed to snap out of it when John turned away. He must have still been angry. John shook his head as his eyes grew cold and angry. He turned back to Sherlock, glaring now.

"For the time being, we ask that everyone silence their mobiles, if anything should come up, take care of it quietly as not to interrupt." Mycroft ordered, watching as little by little the circle brought their phones out.

John pressed the send button angrily before shoving the silenced phone into his pocket.

**John: Angelo's. We need to talk,** **_Greg._**

Sherlock looked up for some sort of sign in John's face, but John didn't look at him again for the entire meeting.

* * *

><p>"Jonathan?" James questioned when John didn't follow him into the car.<p>

"It's alright dad. I'm just going out for some dinner."

James frowned, "Well, we can go together if you'd like-"

"No!" John blurted, suddenly afraid he'd replied too hastily, "I.. just want to be alone for a little bit if it's alright... I still have things to settle and all."

James smiled, "Alright."

John waited until the car had turned a corner before hailing a cab.


	11. New Beginnings

John was nervously flustered when he finally reached the door to Angelo's. This was his third time being there, and while the setting inside was familiar, the atmosphere was different. There weren't any smiling families or any romantic dates around him… it felt like everyone was just eating silently, and it made him gloomy. He took a seat at their regular table, almost awkwardly, as if not knowing if it was alright to do so. He started to toy with his hands in his lap, dawning a half glare as he stared at them.

"John." Came a familiar voice from behind.

John spun his head upward, making eye contact with, "Gre- umm... Sherlock." He mumbled, skewing his mouth when he used the wrong name.

Sherlock took the seat opposite, frowning through his hands as they clasped in front of his face, barely making contact with his lips, "You wanted to talk?"

"Well… obviously." John replied, furrowing his brow, making it seem like that was common sense, "I mean…" he held his hands out in front of him, "You're… not you! You're him, and he is not the.. you?... wit- which... umm... is you... because... you know... you're… you?"

Sherlock grinned with fascination, "Try again. I'm sure you'll get it."

"Shut up." John frowned, turning his head away and fisting the knee of his jeans, "You know what I mean. I shouldn't have to explain myself." He raised his head back to Sherlock, "_You_ on the other hand, have _much_ to say."

Sherlock sat still for a moment, just studying John with his eyes. John was about to protest when Sherlock stood suddenly, extending an arm to him casually, "Hello," he greeted, "My name is Sherlock Holmes."

John let out a short lived laugh, lifting himself off the chair to shake his hand, "John Watson."

"Hey now, you should know better then to shake a Holmes' hand." He joked.

John retracted his hand as Sherlock did, both of them sitting down once more with pleased smiles on their faces, "So," John began, "Who, may I ask, is _Greg_?"

"The Holmes family consigliere, Greg Lestrade. Obviously, Sherlock Holmes isn't a name I want to throw around wherever I walk. While you may be able to get away with _John_ it's a more common name then Sherlock. The last thing I needed was trouble involving my family." He frowned.

John dumped his chin into the palm of his hand, resting his elbow against the table, "But marrying for the family isn't trouble?"

"I had no knowledge of it until rather recently… and it was after I met you." he cooed, "What was your excuse? Sleeping around when you've got a perfectly good fiancé standing on your heel?"

"..Mary isn't always that attached to me..." John countered, blushing when he realized how Jealous Sherlock's tone sounded, "Irene was joking around.".

"...What did she say?" he frowned.

John let out a half assed laugh, "She said she was willing to take my virginity…"

"Well, I'd say it was a bit too late for that."

"Shut up you cock." He flushed, letting his arm fall back onto the table, "…She also said you like to use an alias when you sleep around…"

"I use an alias for _everything_. Sex just happens to be a part of that everything."

"So…" John reddened, "Does that make me a night's shag or?"

Sherlock frowned, "I haven't even looked at another since I met you."

John chuckled with embarrassment, "Alright Casanova."

He smiled when Angelo appeared before them. "Well then, what can I get for you both?"

"I'm fine with a cuppa." John answered, "With just a bit of cream please."

"Black, two sugars for me." Sherlock added.

Angelo grinned widely, scurrying off into the kitchen. John noticed the way Sherlock's face started to grow more serious when he turned his eyes to the window, staring out onto the street. "So John, what's your bride-to-be like?" he asked, only returning his gaze for a only a moment before retreating back to the window.

"Mary?"

"Plain name." Sherlock replied, forcing a rather bad smile.

"Well…" John began, "She's kind."

Sherlock kept his eyes on the street, but it was obvious that his attention was focused solely on John. He tipped his head to the side a little, as if contemplating, "It's always the kind ones you have to look out for."

"Very beautiful.."

"Beauty is fleeting."

"She has a strong heart?"

It was a little nerve wracking the way Sherlock's eyes moved, his chin pointing his face towards the window, but his eyes swerving to look over him. "What does that mean? A strong heart?" he questioned.

"..She has feelings for me, and voices them in her actions."

"I see." he replied, returning his eyes once more in a dismissive, almost irritated manor, "It sounds like you feel for her just as much.."

John frowned. "I don't. I.. feel for someone though."

The faintest hint of a smile could be seen in Sherlock's lips, "And who would that be?"

"Well.. he's an utter cock." John grinned, feeling triumphant when Sherlock's smile grew, "He's tall and handsome, but his big head throws the whole package off balance." Sherlock faced him now, a fully grown smirk on his face, "And to top it all off, he takes sugar in his tea." John grinned. "Just awful really."

"If he's so terrible why do you like him?" Sherlock asked, learning forward a bit, and resting his arms over the table in a calculating fashion.

John smiled, "Because he makes me feel like no one ever has." he wrapped his arms around himself, fingers curling over the opposite elbow, "I know we haven't known each other long.. but it feels like its been an eternity, and like we've been through everything together..."

"You sound like a love-sick puppy." Sherlock teased, eyes sparkling with fascination, "I'd like to meet this man someday, have a name for me?"

"You cock." John replied, leaning forward to plant a firm kiss over Sherlock's lips.

He cursed Sherlock's height when his stomach bumped over the table, sending a slight twinge of pain through his body. How had Sherlock not hit it when he'd kissed John the same way? Curse _all_ tall people. Sherlock grinned when he felt John moan, not necessarily realizing that it was from the injury he'd just suffered thanks to the table's edge. John pulled back first, noticing the way Sherlock tried to chase after his lips as he left.

"Well then," Sherlock started, "I hope this stranger doesn't get jealous easily."

"He seems to." John smiled, settling back into his seat.

Sherlock let his eyes wander to the part of John's neck his suit failed to cover, thinking about how badly he wanted to leave a mark on the skin that resided there. He slipped John a perverted grin unintentionally, surprising himself when John smirked at him. Apparently they were thinking similar things.


	12. Irritation in the Family

John gripped at Sherlock's shoulders desperately as his kisses pushed John hard up against the hotel walls. Sherlock pushed a knee between his legs, bumping them to either side, trying to make room as he shifted his lips to the patch of neck he'd noticed in the restaurant earlier. He bit down gently, using his tongue to lap away at any pain he'd caused, but John's moans encouraged him further. When Sherlock's weight shifted downward, John was nervous, "Wait, Sherlock don't pick me-"

Sherlock raised his arms, forcing John's legs up to either side of his waist, John's ankles struggling to lock behind his back to assure himself he wouldn't fall, "..up.." he gushed, biting his lip unintentionally.

"..but I like the way you cling." Sherlock whispered, trailing rough kisses along his jawbone as he slipped his hands down past John's waist, gripping at the seat of his suit pants.

John let out a short lived whimper when Sherlock squeezed lightly, forcing him to scoot up the wall with his touch. He wrapped arms around Sherlock's neck, hanging on with all his might as Sherlock peeled them away from the wall. "Don't drop me.." he begged, cringing when Sherlock intentionally let him slip for a moment.

The bed was soft against John's back when they fell, making it easy for him to sink back into the red, stereotypical hotel covers that puffed up around them. Sherlock returned his lips to John's mouth, using his hands to keep John's knees hiked up on either sides of his torso. John's arms pulled his head closer, keeping their contact heavy and hot as Sherlock rubbed himself against John's groin, earning involuntary whimpers and pleas.

The jackets were the first to come off, being thrown to the floor carelessly with their shoes and socks. Next was the pants, in which Sherlock nearly ripped off of John's legs, flinging them against the wall opposite, his tie following. When John went to remove his tie however, Sherlock stopped his short of throwing it away. He captured John's wrists, wrapping the red, striped fabric around them until it was tightly secured before holding John's arms above his head with a single hand, the other shamelessly popping off the button's of John's shirt. John whined as he did so, struggling to keep himself focused when Sherlock pushed the shirt away on either side, ducking his head to make work of John's chest.

* * *

><p>"But, I thought that the meeting went well?" Mike questioned, staring over at Andrea and James.<p>

James shifted in his seat so that he could take Andrea's hand. Earning a hidden a secretly frustrated look from across the room. For the sake of planning the wedding, everyone had gathered in the main house. It had been decided to do it directly after the meeting between the representatives for the sake of 'fresh ideas' as Madeline had explained. She only had one daughter, who was keen set on staying indoors with her books. Because of her enthusiasm, the men had caved. Everyone was there, Mike and his brothers, his sister, Emily, father, Cory, and mother, Madeline. Mrs. Hudson carried in a tray of tea and Jammy dodgers and slid it onto the middle table before worriedly scurrying off.

Mike rubbed his hand over his eyes in frustration, "You say he just went off?"

James glared at his nephew, "He said that he still needed time to think. He was doing so much better, I wouldn't be worried Mike. Sit down."

"But last time he didn't come back until the next day!"

Madeline stood, placing a calming hand over her son's arm before staring down James with fierce eyes. "It's fine Mike, James is just saying that you should calm down a bit." she rubbed her palm in soothing circles over his shoulder, "Why are you so worked up?"

"...He's not doing his duties.." Mike lied, a fried out groan escaping his lips. "I thought that was what we were all here for?"

"We're here to talk about the wedding Mike, we have to plan it, figure out what's going to happen and when it's going to-"

Mike turned on his heel, flaring at his mother, "It's his god damn wedding! Why isn't he here!?"

"Mike!" Cory barked, standing suddenly from his seat, "That's enough. Now, you and John are the best of friends. I have absolutely no idea why you're so resentful today." He took in a deep breath before ordering him to sit down.

Mike scowled at him, but obeyed never the less, plopping himself down into the couch opposite them, Luke attempting to smile his way, but earning nothing but a glare in return. He shrunk himself down after that, sorry that he'd tried.

"Good..." Madeline began, "Now that that's settled.. let's talk color schemes."

Mike flared his nostrils angrily as he glared at the wall, ignoring his mother as she listed six different shades of red. His mind was reeling. It was as if John didn't want to marry her. Mary, a beautiful, strong, independent woman who loved him, and he hadn't bothered to show up. Nonchalantly, he flipped open his phone, making it to his message lists before deciding to shut it again. He suddenly felt like all eyes were on him, even if they were over the way Madeline was waving her arms around, describing her idea for a beautiful flower set.

He groaned, standing to excuse himself.

"Where do you think you're going?" his father demanded.

He waved his hand above his head dismissively, "Bathroom."

Instead of heading there, he made a turn to the stairs, hiking up silently as not to alert the others that he'd lied. He glided across the hallway until he finally bumped into John's bedroom door, secretly praying he was there, frowning when he received nothing more then an empty room, and a bed that looked like it hadn't been slept in for a while. He kicked at the leg of the bed, wincing when he hurt his toes. He was frustrated. Mary deserved someone better then this.

* * *

><p>John rested his head against Sherlock's chest as he heaved heavy breaths, "That... was amazing." he breathed, bringing his arm up in front of his face, codling Sherlock's torso with a content smile.<p>

"I remembered more things from the last time.." he grinned with triumph, "It's always better when you know what you're doing. It's common knowledge John."

John let out a breathy laugh, "Cock."

Sherlock wrapped his arm around John's back, using his thumb to trace his shoulder. He enjoyed the way John snuggled his face closer when he did so, encouraging him to continue on. It was like John trusted him entirely. Sherlock took his free hand and entangled his fingers with John's, holding the hand over his chest lovingly. "Do we have to leave tomorrow?" John questioned, groaning slightly, "Couldn't we just spend the entire day like this?"

Sherlock swiveled his head to look down at John, "Do you have anything to do tomorrow?"

"... Not that I can think of.. and even if there was, I'd rather be here."

His phone buzzed atop the wooden side table, making a loud, obnoxious interruption. John whined, telling his lover to ignore it. Another buzz came shortly after, followed by another, until John finally gave in, reaching over Sherlock to grab the annoying thing.

**Mike: Where the hell are you? Everyone's waiting here.**

**Mike: Move your ass John. **

**Mike: John Hamish Watson, I swear on my grandmother's grave if you don't reply and get your ass down here I will personally see to it that you don't come home at all, now move your damn ass!**

John frowned. He'd never remembered Mike so harsh.

"Something wrong?" Sherlock questioned, raising his head a little when John sat up, glaring at his phone.

John shook his head, "No, I.. just need to get home. I'd completely forgotten about the family meeting..."

"_Families_.." Sherlock scoffed, letting his head fall back against the pillow. "Always seem to screw everything up."

John smiled, leaning down to peck a final kiss on Sherlock's lips before sitting up, and hurriedly shrugging into his clothes.


	13. Collision

Sherlock was practically a zombie when he walked through the door of his house, using his slender fingers to massage the cartridge of his nose. He'd been up late the last several nights, and it was taking a small toll on him. He dropped his coat over the hook of the coat rack, scoffing when he noticed his brother's umbrella propped against it as well, almost like it was waiting for him. Sherlock's attention swayed when he heard foot steps coming down the stairs at a slow, almost menacing pace. "Well, good to see you finally found your way home." Mycroft scoffed.

Mycroft stood on the final step, probably postponing stepping down for the sake of keeping himself taller than Sherlock for a _few_ more minutes. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, making a point to disregard his brother as he started towards the parlor and making himself comfortable. He sunk carelessly into his favorite chair, crossing his legs as Mycroft followed him in. "I'm sure.." his brother began, "That you understand, we have much to discuss over the wedding."

Sherlock kept his eyes dead-locked onto his brother's, making sure he got his point across, "I don't want to marry Irene. I never have, and assure you, I _never_ will."

Mycroft seemed a bit taken back, even appeared to consider this for a moment, making Sherlock frown. It wasn't like Mycroft to show empathy, or even _emotions._ "There's nothing to be done." he finally replied, "Everyone else is happy with the arrangement, and it will be beneficial to _all_ of the families." he continued into the parlor, finding himself a seat across from Sherlock, "This is the first time that there's ever been arranged marriages between all families. I believe that it could be revolutionary. You yourself should-"

"I'm not _incompetent_, brother." Sherlock glared, "I'm well aware of it's potential and all it could do.. but its those who are destined to be wed that don't approve."

"Just because _you_ don't like the idea doesn't mean the others don't." Mycroft shook his head with disapproval, "If I recall correctly, Irene was very pleased, and the Morstan girl and Watson boy seemed content." he widened his eyes a little, "In fact, they were linked at the hip for most of the hour.."

Sherlock frowned, remembering well enough to be agitated. He wanted to let Mycroft know that he wasn't the only unhappy one, John didn't want to marry her -but that would give him away. It would mean he'd talked with John outside of the meetings, which was for all intended purposes, a form of tyranny. They were sworn enemies at the end of the day... and he didn't have any control over that.

"I don't want to be a part of this."

"Well, like it or not you _are_." Mycroft retorted, his face skewing with a look of irritation, "Grow up Sherlock."

"Why are you pretending to be in charge?" He growled, feeling vengeful. "You're not the don."

Mycroft's face turned sour quickly, "You know better then anyone the condition that father is in. I'm in charge of-"

"Taking over his duties until he keels over?"

Mycroft scoffed with disbelief, "You know," he began, standing quietly before sternly glaring down his brother, "I never took the world's words to heart. The things they've said about you. I'd always believed that they just, didn't know you Sherlock."

"I don't need your sentiment, Mycroft." he growled.

Mycroft shook his head, not bothering to reply until he'd almost made his way out of the room, "Perhaps you truly _are _the world's only living heart donor."

Sherlock scowled. He wasn't heartless...

* * *

><p>Mike was beyond frustrated. John would have had to be on the family border lines if it had taken him this long to get back. He was sitting on the front stoop, blocking the front door while he waited for his cousin. John was acting off-key ever since this whole marriage business had began. Because <em>John<em> was put off, the rest of the family had been out of the game as well. He was always late, hardly home, and was sneaking around behind even _his_ back.

A cab slowed in front of the drive, the back door opening as John stepped out wearily. That was another thing, they had a family car and driver. There was no need for any cabs, yet that was John's recent mode of transportation. It was all too much for his liking. Of course, he was worried for the effect his childish behavior was having on the family, but he was also concerned for Mary. This wasn't someone she wanted to marry. "Where've you been?" Mike scowled when John reached him, "Are you drunk?"

"No.." he yawned, rubbing his eyes, "Just tired."

"Late night?"

John grinned lightly, "You could say that."

Glaring, Mike stood, dusting off his trousers, "Andrea has been worried sick, your father's upset, Luke can't concentrate on his training, and its on _my_ shoulders to fix it." he pressed an accusing finger into the middle of John's chest angrily, "_What_ are you doing?"

"You're not my mother, Mike. Leave me alone." John replied dismissively, swatting his hand away.

"Your _mother_ isn't here, its just us men."

John frowned when he was blocked from getting inside the house, Mike shifting into his path, "... you're acting more like a boy."

"_I'm_ the boy?" he glowered, taking a large step to the left when John tried to dodge him.

"Look, Mike... I'm tired. Cut this out and let me in. I need a shower and something to eat.."

Mike brought his nose close to John's neck, taking in a good whiff before John could pull away. "M-Mike!" he fumbled, trying to break out of his hands when he reached up to pull on the collar of his suit, "What the hell!"

Mike ripped, exposing the skin from John's chin to his shoulder, revealing scandalous bite mark after bite mark. He clenched his jaw as he pulled back, raising a fist into the air, "You cock!" he barked, smashing his knuckles against John's jaw with brute force.

John's breath left him as he crashed to the floor. He groaned with displeasure, raising his hand to his lip in search for any blood. "Wha.."

Mike had been waiting impatiently for John to get back and was now far past his boiling point, having nothing but time to think perverse situations himself. He'd been doing nothing but thinking about how much he wanted to punch John for the last half hour, and now he'd been given every right to do so. "You bloody cock! What the hell! John Watson, marrying the most beautiful girl in all of London, is cavorting around with... PPROSTITUTES!" he roared, diving down to crash another fist into his skull mercilessly, his knees colliding with the cement walkway as he fell.

John retaliated, defending himself with a cross-arm shield, blocking a better portion of Mike's ruthless blows. John, desperate to fix this, yelled up, "I didn't sleep with any prostitutes Mike!"

"Then explain those fucking marks! You, dirty bastard!"

John cringed when Mike's punches changed, driving into his side once he realized he couldn't get anywhere with the face. "I DIDN'T SLEEP WITH A PROSTITUTE! FOR GOD'S SA-"

Mike's fist seemed to disappear into John's side, crushing his rib as his knuckles dug deep. His eyes started to water as he fought the pain, his voice cracking every time he tried to speak, "MI-" he started coughing uncontrollably, hardly able to breathe.

He was choking on the blood that flooded his mouth, spitting it out only a little at a time, the lack of oxygen turning his face purple. It was enough to make Mike stop, and roll off of him, suddenly regaining his senses when he realized all the damage. John couldn't breathe, and his body went into multiple spasms in attempt to get air flowing through his lungs. "J-John? ANDREA!" he cried, pulling John's head up into his lap carefully, trying to flip him so that the blood would leek out voluntarily. "JAMES! FATHER! HELP! SOMEBODY HELP!"

John thought he was going to die. His lungs were on fire, and he felt like he was drowning. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't file out the blood that caught in his air pipes, and he was gradually losing the ability to think about what he needed to do. The front door slammed open, people filing out just in time to see John drop to the floor. James dropped to his side urgently, pressing his head against the boy's chest for signs of breath, ordering the women to call an ambulance.

Mike rocked back and forth a small distance away from where James was attempting CPR, blaming himself for everything.


	14. Important Update

**I apologize deeply lovelies, but while I was on vacation, I wrote multiple updates on word doc hoping to post them once I had Internet again. However on the plane trip home, my laptop got severely damaged and I lost it all. There won't be updates for a while because I don't have A way to write anything quite yet or to get in touch with my betas. I'm writing this on my phone and having a terrible time trying to do so. On top of hat, i was involved in a car wreck, and had all my wisdom teeth pulled. If I have to then I'll Ty to continue writing this way, I hope you don't mind being a little patient as I try to get a new computer. There will be a wait For Updates during this time, but I hope you'll understand. Love you all! Thank you for your support!**

** -an apologetic LovelyFangirls**


	15. Cats Out of the Bag

**Let me start out by saying thanks to everyone who was so understanding and awesome about my stupid life updates. My girlfriend came over to help me feel a bit better, and this fic came up. I started brainstorming like crazy and just had to write. Im apologizing ahead of time because I KNOW there will be mistakes, Im on pain meds that can make me loopy, its 1 am or so.. and my stupid thumbs just love to hit the wrong letters on this phone.. I miss my laptop so much. Bare with me.. and call me out if I make a mistake so that it. Can get fixed. :) thanks lovelies! **

* * *

><p>The hospital waiting room was cramped and cold. John had been wheeled into urgent care, a man sitting over his lap as they pushed into his chest. There hadn't been any word yet, and almost everyone was crowded into the seats, some being forced to stand around while they waited. Mike recognized his men; gathered in a corner, and stood from his chair, walking over to them as they whispered. "Hey, is it true that you two fought it out?" one of them ruffed, ducking back as soon as he'd said it.<p>

Mike scowled, "Have you lot got nothing better to do then stand around gossiping like girls?" He shook his head wearily, pressing on his temple in attempts to stop an on-coming headache. "Listen.. could one of you find a vending machine?"

They frowned at one another, "What for?"

"Andrea is on edge. My mother is trying to comfort her but.. She's not in a good state. I could use something cold before I talk with her."

"You haven't spoken to them yet?" One asked, skeptical.

"I'll go." Mike chased the voice behind one of the larger men, finally recognizing Tony Hudson; family friend and loyal foot.

He smiled, "Thanks. I think she could use some tea as well, if you could manage."

The boy nodded, turning on his heel and starting down the hall. "Why's the runt here again?" A tall, lightly peppered with scruff, and cocky young man snickered, "I mean, I get that he's the old lady's son.. but I mean, come on. He's a toothpick."

Mike scowled, "He's a loyal member of our regiment as of last month. Are you all _still_ not used to him?"

"You mean he's a permanent?" he chuckled. "_I'm_ not training him. That's for sure."

"Well, thank you for volunteering Brent." Mike grinned cheekily, slapping a palm over his shoulder, "You can go help him fetch sone drinks."

The man looked to the others pleadingly for help, but in vain. They all knew better then to go against Mike, especially with the mood he was currently in. With an upset huff, he pushed past them, following the boy down the hall in search of a vending machine. One of the other men had trouble quieting his chuckle, shrugging it off when Mike asked knowingly if he was okay in a warning fashion.

Mike plopped down wearily back into his waiting room chair, running his hands over his face as a familiar friend followed, sitting close beside.

He looked up with secret gratitude thankful for the company. Luke fidgeted beside him, playing nervously with his hands. "So," he started, a long pause taking place before he really decided to say anything more, "You still haven't told anyone what exactly happened..."

"I know."

"..Did you want to talk about it?" He encouraged, bumping Mike's arm lightly with his elbow, displaying more courage then he really felt.

Mike grinned, "What happened to the good old days? Before all if this, rather ridiculous marriage stuff.. When we all just cared about who got the last bite of of Mrs. Hudson's chocolate cake?"

Luke's knees were bouncing up and down as he tried to think if a reply, opening his mouth just as Mike added, "I won't punch you if that's why you're so jittery." He ruffled Luke's hair childishly, "I wouldn't hurt my baby brother."

Pouting, Luke pushed his hand away, "I'm not a baby anymore. I'm an official working leader of the family thank you."

"So fierce." Mike chuckled, pointing down to his fidgety knees, "I'll have to teach you some well needed growling, mr. Capo."

"G-growling?" He repeated nervously, "What the heck?-"

Harold seemed to pop out if nowhere, glaring down Luke fiercely enough to make him jump. He tapped his nose with a grin when Luke flinched violently, "Growling!"

Luke turned his confused face to Mike, who was smiling as he wrapped a brotherly arm around him. He felt like he was missing out on some inside joke, "I was nervous too when I started out."

Luke frowned, shaking his head, "I'm not ner-"

Mike shushed him with his hand, "Dad used to call it 'growling'. It's just a way to prove you're tough. You know, win the battle before it even starts." He lifted his hands to Luke's face and played with his cheeks, "Here."

Harold grinned, "Mike taught me just before my senior year in school. The girl I liked had the boyfriend from hell on her arm, but I wasn't about to give up!." he poked a finger at the top of Luke's eyebrow, pushing it down, "Be angry. It's more intimidating."

Batting away his brothers' hands, Luke stood. He wrapped his arms around himself, "Don't change the subject Mike." He paced stiffly, "You told me yourself Mike.. The day of my initiation. We're not kids anymore." He took a step back, pulling Harold up onto his feet from where he had been crouched. "Be responsible for your actions."

"Calm down Luke.." Harold started, pressing assuringly into the hand that held his sleeve. "Why is everyone so worked up lately?"

Mike shook his head. "Because this whole business is a bloody disaster! No one should be going along with this!" his voice was raised, causing his brothers to stare blankly at him, like he was alien. Worry washed over Luke as he returned to his brother, hesitantly wondering if he'd said too much. Mike swatted him away, "John's been sleeping with someone else.." He mumbled.

The boys were silent, sharing confused looks between one another as Mike started raking shaking fingers through his blonde hair. "I got worked up, alright?" he looked up at them with a pleading expression, begging them to understand, "I saw the marks on his neck and just... Got angry."

"You attacked John because you were jealous?" Harold let out a hearty laugh. "You're kidding right? You; calm, responsible, mature Mike, sent John Watson to the hospital... Because you were fucking jealous?!"

"Language!" Mike warned.

Harold scowled, "Are you serious?!"

"Shut up Harold." standing from his chair, Mike grabbed onto his brother's shirt. "I do nothing but look out for everyone around here, I tie up everyone's loose strings. OI cause a mess for once and everyone's acting like its impossible!" he pushed him away angrily, "I can't get upset too? Isn't it possible that I have feelings too?!"

Luke put himself between the two if them, holding up his arms to keep another fight from breaking out. "Guys!"

"I just can't believe that the 'big brother' had a hissy fit!" Harold scowled, pushing his chest against where Luke held him back. "I look up to you!"

"Then find a different role model! I'm not perfect you know!"

"Guys!"

Harold swayed out from Luke's hand, "Yeah, no shit! Perfect?" Harold's words were sharp and harsh, "Look at the mess you caused!" he found himself flat on his back when Mike shoved him.

"You wouldn't understand! You're not in love!"

"Oh so you've got eyes for Johnny now huh?"

Mike crumpled his fists at his sides, every nerve of his body telling him to punch Harold, "No! I love _Mary_ damn it!" he practically screamed, waving his arms around his head, "I love Mary and that bastard had her heart! She's loved him for years and what does he do? He cheats on her! That bastard cock-headed pig just-"

The entire waiting room has silenced. It was a surreal moment if realization when Mike's temper had finally cooled. The only sounds were the constant, loud and obnoxious phone beeps coming from the front desk. It made his heart pound in his head. A hand hovered over his shoulder as he looked around. Had everyone just heard him?"

"Mike?"

He turned so suddenly that he made Mary jump, nearly dropping the vase of flowers in get arms. She looked crushed, and it made Mike feel sick. She'd heard all that? He'd meant to shield her from it. His stomach flipped and sloshed nervously. He wanted nothing more then to disappear from the numerous eyes that stalked him as he left. He didn't bother taking anything with him as he left.

Mike forced himself past Mary and out the door before he could do anymore savage damage. Had he really over reacted like Harold said? His head was swimming with 'what if' situations, and it took all his patience to hail a cab without jumping out into the street. Mike was deflated and defeated when he finally crawled into the back seat of a smelly, London car.

* * *

><p>James and Andrea were sitting hand in hand. James, who had been rubbing soothing patterns over his wife's back with his palm, was still. He stood wearily when the Morstans approached, greeting his old friend awkwardly.<p>

"James.." Thomas muttered, his eyes adverting any real contact with his friend's, "..I see that we have much to talk about." He mumbled, "Yes?"

James nodded stiffly, "I-I suppose so."

"We heard that John had been injured and hurried right over." Thomas tilted his head towards Mary, "However, in light of everything that we just witnessed, before I let my daughter see John.. I would be-" he cleared his throat oddly, his pressure on the greeting handshake suddenly weary and unsure, "I am anxious to know if there was any truth behind the boy's claims.."

With another silent nod, James led both Thomas and his wife into seats, wondering how he would smooth talk his way out of this. He felt nothing but dread as he opened his mouth to speak, "I must say that I had no idea that John.. Thomas.." He squinted his eyes, "I suppose this means... The weddings are off?"

* * *

><p>Mike was still mad, but he wasn't cruel, or stupid. He loved John like a brother, and had spent most of the previous hour scolding himself for putting John into a hospital bed only to cause even more trouble.<p>

With a heavy sigh, he lifted his phone out of his pocket, blazing through the contacts in search of an old friend. He thumbed the keypad with frustration before it started to ring, making him raise the mobile to his ear.

"Yes. Hello again, yes, yes I know, long time since we last talked. Listen Harry this is-" he paused before letting out a short laugh, "I know, I know, _Harriet_." He grinned, "Look, I wouldn't ask you to come back unless it was absolutely important." He dropped his head back against the cab's seat, "There's just too much going on.."


	16. Harriet

John was awake, but still in a lot of pain, refusing to really see anyone. At least, that's what the doctors said to keep the raging crowd of impatient family members.

Truthfully, he'd asked the nurse to give him more time alone. He thanked god for the pain medicine they'd stick into his vein. Why did girls always love drama? They claimed to hate it, but always seemed desperate to claw into something. He'd gladly trade it all in for a few Jammy Dodgers. Or another plate of Angelo's Alfredo.

Thinking of Angelo's made him think of Sherlock. He raised a hand to his neck, brushing over the marks Mike had uncovered earlier. The nurse told him that he'd been asleep for nearly an hour, which was plenty of time to let the cat out of the bag. Which made him nervous. John let out an unintentional heavy sigh before pulling the itchy hospital blanket up as far as he could. The way they portrayed these situations on the telly cracked it up to be better then it really was. The bed was uncomfortable and the blanket was crap. The IV in his arm made it impossible to go back to sleep and the whole room reeked of rubber gloves and metal. It was unsettling.

He wanted to know what was happening, but was too tired to move his arms. He shut his eyes wearily, muttering to himself, "Harriet would know what to do... She always knew what to do when bad things happened." He frowned, shaking his head.

* * *

><p>Brent and Tony were on their way back to the others with cold drinks when Brent spotted the forgotten Watson, instinctively pulling Tony's sleeve to get the boy out of her way as she walked. Tony made him chuckle when his face went pale. He looked like a poor, terrified mouse that had been caught. "Who.. Who's that?" He questioned, looking up to Brent expectantly.<p>

"Trouble." He grinned, dragging Tony along, "With a capital H."

"You obviously know him-"

"Her." He took the boy's arm to prevent him from staring as she walked down the hall in the opposite direction. "She'll kick your ass if you mess it up."

They were almost back at the main waiting room when Tony finally shrugged out of Brent's hold. "Why are you helping me? I thought you were upset with me."

Brent shrugged. "Why? You're cute. It's like my Achilles heel. Can't sleep at night unless I've helped some poor helpless bugger once in a day."

Tony blushed before grabbing the cans from Brent's arm, mumbling "..M'not cute." He pushed forward, looking eagerly for Mike, who was by now gone. He dumbed around, trying not to acknowledge the amused man following him curiously.

* * *

><p>"Alright, darling I get it." Harriet snapped, a bag tucked on her elbow while she used her other hand to bat away the nurse who protested with earnest. "This is my baby bro.. Leave us alone for a few measly minutes!"<p>

John let out a loud, hearty laugh when he recognized the zesty attitude that strut through his door with two platform heels buckled over her ankles. "Harriet!"

"Oh, hon. What'd you get yourself into this time?" She groaned, plopping down on the bed with him. "Mike called me up. I missed the new episode of American Lovers for this!" she poked his nose with a studded nail, "You owe me bud."

John smiled happily, "I take it you picked up quite a bit in America?"

"Oh, John. The Americans were just waiting for me to march in there." She grinned triumphantly, unzipping the her purse before pulling out a small snack-box marked special ordered. "They're cookies made on the American coast." She smiled. "The man at the factory slipped them into my purse."

John paused halfway through chewing one to stare at her doubtfully, almost threatening to spit it out if she didn't continue.

"I didn't steal. I just flirted my way into some free snacks." She replied, rolling her eyes as she dropped one into her mouth. "Just eat. I know you're hungry."

"You seem to know a lot?"

"I told you," she cooed, sucking a few stray crumbs off her fingers, "Mike gave me a call. Filled me in so well I feel like the walking John Watson bio."

"I'm surprised no one's filed a restraining order against him for-" John cringed when he tried to sit up, making Harriet flinch.

She made a skewed face at him, but decided against saying anything. John was thankful that she didn't dwell on his injuries too long, it made for less empathy and more normalcy, which frankly, was a blessing at the moment.

"You know he just worries.." She hummed, holding out the box to him again and sacrificing the final cookie, which he happily accepted.

"His 'worrying' is what got me here." He frowned, suddenly wishing for a glass of milk. "Why did he call you anyway?"

"At least he_ did_." She snapped, "You got engaged and didn't even find a moment to tell me?" Harriet pouted her lip, "I'm wounded."

John chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, "It's been pretty busy lately.."

Harriet nodded, "Well, we've got time now. I want all the dirty details." she pulled her legs up into the bed after kicking off her heels, cuddling up with him. "Alright. Lay it on me."

"God it's good to have you back." John grinned.

* * *

><p>Brent had stalked Tony back into the waiting room, passing by the family heads with a grin when Tony handed Andrea the tea. "Guess who's back?" He chuckled.<p>

"You're still talking about the guy in heels?" Tony questioned, "Who is he?"

James let out a sound that was halfway between a growl and a whine. "Harry? Are you telling me that he's here?"

"I'm no mind reader, but I'm 97% sure she was headed for John's room."

"If he can see John then so can we!" James scowled lifting himself off the chair before making his way to the shaking receptionist, a poor boy who clearly had no idea how t deal with all these people. "Come on." He grunted, returning to point the way for the rest of them. "I'm done waiting around.

The receptionist shook his head nervously as an army of visitors stormed down the hall. Whoever the poor patient was, he didn't want to be in their shoes anytime soon.

* * *

><p>"So you're saying that you've got some hot sex god tripping over your heels and you're actually starting to think marrying little Mary is a good idea?" Harriet frowned, unimpressed, "I know Mary is a doll but... Does no one else in this mad house see that this is all a load of bull?"<p>

"It's 'for the protection of the families'." John quoted, mocking with a lower tone and faking a mustache with his finger.

"So glad you don't have one of those furry caterpillars on your lip." She smiled, flicking his finger away. "You're in quite the pickle aren't you?"

"Another American saying?"

Harriet lapsed a hand over her heart, pretending to melt, "Don't bash until you've tried it." She pushed a tangle of curly hair out if her eyes, "Ever heard of a pride parade?" Harriet's grin was sin.

"No, what is it?"

She rubbed a have over his knee. "I'll take you and your boyfriend sometime."

"He's not my boyfriend." He gushed.

"Truly? John, if he isn't your boyfriend then I'll treat you to a high night in a gay bar."

"Still drinking?"

She huffed out a disapproving puff of air, "It's a guilty pleasure. Now stop changing the subject. What do you plan to do about it all?"

"Well.. I thought you could help me with that bit. Make the right choice and everything like always."

"I may still call you my little baby brother, but you're a grown man John. You can make your own choices." Harriet wrapped her hand around John's head, stroking his hair with get fingers soothingly. "You'll be alright hon."

The door was pushed open with vigorous force as a stampede of agitated mafia forced their way into the room. Of course, Harriet was more then happy to smile and wave courteously in everyone's direction. "Well hello all. Feel like I missed my angry mob invitation." she pretended to be disapproving, "Where are the torches and pitchforks?"

James cleared his throat unceremoniously, dryly, "Harry."

"That's Harr_iet._" She corrected, smiling like an idiot when her father looked shaken.

Everyone seemed a little off after seeing her, Bret however, was grinning like a drunken sailor. "Harriet."

Flipping her legs over the bed, "Bret!" Tony shifted awkwardly behind them as the two hugged. "Long time no see." She grinned.

"Well you passed right by me in the hallway." He huffed, teasingly. "I thought surely Americans would rub off well on you. Not turn you into a prick."

"Well I hardly recognized you with your little busy body at your side." she grinned, sharing a devilish look of fondness.

Tony trained his eyes to the floor, trying not to blush.

"This is all very cheery and what-not, but-"

"Hush up dad." Harriet shooed, flapping her hands around dismissively, "I'm just catching up with old friends. No need to run me out of town just yet."

"You were told to leave us." He snapped, his brow furling with irritation. "I thought you'd left for America."

"I did, but I came back months ago. I've been living out near gran as of August."

"You've been back in England for three months and haven't contacted us?"

Harriet let out a sulking scoff. "I understood you didn't want anything to do with me."

Andrea pushed past the small crowd, muttering, "Hush up already! My child is home and you're both squabbling like you're politicians! Not everything is so informal." She grunted, cupping a warm palm over Harriet's cheek. "I've missed you darling."

"Hello mom."

"Mother is the proper term!" James thundered, "Of course you were taken in by the American ways. You always were easily drawn into strange things."

"Just because I feel better in my own skin now?"

"You've disgraced us all-"

"James that is enough!" Andrea charged, standing firm between the two,"John is injured and in the hospital. Anyone would want to come see they're brother, but all you can think about is your own hassles."

"Andrea." He snuffed, an authoritative look about him, "How can you be so calm about this?"

"I'm a mother, a mobsters wife and.." She smiled lifting her chin, "I'm British. Don't test me anymore tonight."

Harriet smiled genuinely at the lot, wrapping an arm over her mother's, "So, I heard there was a disaster of a wedding being planned."


	17. And So it Begins

**Sort of a short update, sorry. All my stuff is finally organized again so I'll be getting back into a regular routine soon with longer updates/more frequent ones. However, we're getting into the real stuff here. Hell's about to break lose! :O OH NOES!**

* * *

><p>It had taken James halfway through Andrea's long story to finally calm down and accept that Harriet did in fact exist, and while she hadn't exactly been acknowledging him either, she spared him sideways glances whenever he was mentioned in Andrea's update. John and Mike had obviously already filled her in, but Harriet was enjoying how her mother spoke with passion, like she was eager to contribute.<p>

John found himself amused as well. Andrea was usually quiet and well kept, coming out of her shy shell only when it was recommended of her. Today however, she was talking a mile a minute, waiving her hands about and changing her face outrageously whenever the story line demanded it.

It was a happy change that had John smiling. Harold snaked an arm around Luke's neck, whispering how much fun he was having now that the drag was home. "Well, mom.." Harriet smiled, sweetly trying to tame the talkative beast she'd unleashed, "Don't you think that John's a little overwhelmed with all these goons hanging around?"

"So bitter." Brent challenged, clicking his tongue at her.

"_You're_ a certified goon it ever I saw one."

John shook his head at the two, chuckling when Harriet stuck her tongue in Brent's direction. He let out a well needed cough, "A bit less people in here would be nice..." he shrugged, "I'm just a little tired, some quiet would definitely help."

Andrea looked down at her son; her gaze, full of motherly love morphing quickly into an authoritative attitude that made John grin when he mentally compared it with Harriet's. She spun around suddenly, shooing the flock of men out of the room like stray birds. The only poor souls left were the one's she's rooted to the ground with an intense stare. John smiled awkwardly at his father, before seeing who else was left.

Apart from his parents and Harriet, Luke, Emily and Harold had stayed. He was grateful to have a few mates and was excited to catch up a little bit with Emily, but he wondered why Andrea had forced Uncle Cory and Aunt Madeline out. Finally, his eyes wandered over Mary, _her_ parents were unaccounted for as well. John turned a questionable gaze to his mother, noticing her sly smile as he pulled on James' arm. "We'll be leaving. I want you kids to catch up. Your father and I have a lot to discuss with the Morstans." she waved before shutting the door behind them, dragging James along, practically kicking and screaming.

"Harold! Luke!" Harriet grinned, "Good to see you both!"

"Likewise." Luke smiled.

"And Emily!" Harriet attached herself to Emily's arm, nearly pulling on a few of her long, blonde hairs. "You're gorgeous honey!"

John rolled his eyes, "And you're yelling."

"Oh hush up." she dismissed, smiling eagerly at the terrified looking girl. "What kind of make-up do you use? It looks so natural."

"Well.. I.." she gushed. "I don't really use any."

Harriet's frowned, "You mean to tell me you're naturally this beautiful? Hon, I hate you. It takes me an hour to do this." she informed her, circling around her face with a finger. "I envy you!"

Emily smiled bashfully, brushing a few strands of hair out of her eyes.

"John.." Harold started, coming up to his side, awkwardly out of character as he frowned at the tiles on the floor, "Mike told us..."

"..T-told you what exactly?" he stuttered, knowing perfectly well what he meant, but praying regardless that he was wrong.

Harold shot Luke and Emily a weary look before turning back to him, "In the waiting room." he began, lifting his chin to show off a fresh, newly coloring bruise.

John digested it hesitantly, "What happened?"

Mary shifted awkwardly behind the small group gathered around John's bed, letting out an obviously purposed cough, "You know, I think I should go. It's rather obvious I'm making this conversation awkward." she smiled politely at the others before nodding to John, "I'll check on you later.."

John opened his mouth to stop her from leaving, but Harriet silenced him with a warm hand over his, stating that she knew better. He trusted her judgment and let Mary escape, the door shutting regretfully behind her. The moment they were alone, Harold started to explain. John's face grew paler and paler after each sentence. It was dreadfully clear that Mary was upset with him, and Mike as well. When he heard about Mike's declaration of love for Mary, he rubbed his ribs soothingly, almost remembering how she'd been the topic of conversation before he'd been attacked.

It made a lot more sense now.

"So.. What did the Morstans have to say about it?"

"We don't have any idea." Harold replied, frowning, "I'm assuming that's why Andrea and the other's didn't stay." he lifted his head suddenly, nervous, "Do you think this could start a feud between us and them?"

"..Maybe." John muttered, letting his eyes fall. "I really cocked it up this time didn't I?"

"Must have been some girl." Harold chuckled, half heartedly joking.

Harriet grinned devilishly, "A man, actually."

"Man?!" Luke blurted, before stopping himself, "S-Sorry.. I just always thought that John was-"

"I'm gay." he interrupted, staring them all in the face, "Any problems with it?"

Harold doubled over, "You mean to tell me I got punched because you shagged some man in the arse? Seriously?"

"Well.." Harriet corrected, "More like _he _got shagged."

"You're a bloody bottom!" Harold continued, his laughter roaring more then normal, making him cradle his stomach.

John glared brutally at Harriet, muttering at her, "Last time I share with _you_."

Luke fumbled with himself beside Harold, "Isn't that.. too taboo?"

"I don't care." John groaned, letting his head fall back against the pillow, shutting his eyes, "It's even worse then you think it is."

"How so?" Harriet screeched, spinning her head suddenly, "Something you didn't tell me?"

"You don't deserve to know anything else." he grumbled, "You're bloody awful at keeping secrets."

Emily brushed against Luke, "What's worse?"

"The man I'm with.. Is a member of the Holmes family. The one who was supposed to marry Irene."

The room suddenly became dead silent. The only sounds anyone heard were the loud thuds of a man's footsteps outside the door. Someone had heard that last sentence, and John was saturated with nervous sweat, "Did.. did someone just?-"

"I think so.." Harriet whispered, staring directly at the door. "Dear god.. this could mean-"

"All out war."

Everyone had acknowledged what he'd said, knowing that if someone had just heard them, then that's what very well could come to pass. All out war between the four mafia families of Britain. The peace, struggled for throughout the previous centuries was about to crumble in one night because of John's choice. It was surely going to make him the center of attention, and he was unguarded and vulnerable where he was.

"Come on." Harriet stated, determination laced in her voice, "We're getting you out of here this instant. If war is about to start, they'll start with you. You're not safe, and can't defend yourself here."

Harold and Luke set to work, figuring out what Iv's they could mess with, and what needed to stay as Harriet helped him up, cringing every time he winced with pain. "Where am I supposed to go?"

"We need to find Sherlock."

John nodded towards his clothes, "My mobile. It has his number. He's under Greg. Call him!"

Emily fumbled around with his jacket, scrounging through the pockets with shaky hands, finally pulling out the little black phone. She quickly thumbed through his contacts, looking for the number with so much haste, that she passed it twice. "It's ringing.."

Harold and Luke were helping Harriet put John into a wheelchair when the phone finally clicked on the other end. "_John. Why are you calling?_"

"I'm sorry sir, but this is Emily! John needs your help! There's about to be a war!"


	18. Escape the Hospital

It was all about haste.

Harriet made quick work of propping every door in their way open as Harold pushed John along in the wheelchair. Luke was struggling to keep up, holding the IV bag level above John's head as they sped down the hallway. He'd read somewhere that the gravity was how it worked, so it was important to keep the liquid flowing. With everyone busy, it was up to poor Emily, who was stuttering directions through the phone along behind them and trying to apologize to everyone Harriet shoved out of the way. It was like some sort of comedic relief scene you'd see in a depressing film.

"No, no, St. Bartholomew's Hospital!" Emily shouted to Sherlock through John's phone, "Yes! We're making our way to the ground level.. N-no," she began, suddenly quiet, "we're.. sort of running."

"Don't tell him that!" Harriet ordered back at her from the opposite side of John's chair, pulling open a set of swinging hospital doors, "He'll think we're mad!"

"We _are_ mad!" Harold laughed loudly, mentally noting the expression of every doctor and nurse they passed, loving their flabbergasted expressions and floor dropped jaws. One lady even jumped when they rushed by.

Luke nearly tripped over the left wheel when they made a sharp turn, the IV bag fumbling out of his hands for a mere second and making everyone squeak with fright. John couldn't believe that he was laughing throughout all the madness. It was one of the funniest things he'd ever experienced. At least, it was until security showed up.

"Hey you! Stop right there!" A large, burly man barked, two men galloping close on his heels, like a triangular task force.

John tried to look over his shoulder at the strangers, but couldn't spin very well in his chair without sending a gross, painful jolt through his ribs. "Wh-who is that?" he questioned, staring up at Harold as he gripped at his injured side.

"Would you believe.. screaming fans?"

"Stop!" They shouted again, picking up pace as the small little gang sped up as well.

Harriet, desperately ran ahead, probing the button on the elevator multiple times before shrieking violently. "What in the bloody hell?!" Harold cried, staring at her.

"I.. I think I broke a nail.." she squeaked, cradling a finger in her palm.

Harold stared at her with disbelief, "Oh for god's sakes!"

"Do you know how expensive these were!?"

The elevator ticked down one floor slowly, but still hadn't reached. "Screw it!" Harold cursed, picking up his movements again as the three men in standard issue uniform neared them dangerously. With little hesitation, he forced his way through the stair doors, abandoning the wheelchair on the leveled floor to make sure everyone had followed him in before slamming the door shut with force, stopping the guards from entering. "Get him out of the chair!"

"Are you crazy!?" Harriet fritted, jerking her hands around like a mad woman.

"Just do it! We can't wheel him down the stairs anywa-" His voice was suddenly cut short when a violent thud emitted from the other side of the door, forcing both the door and him forward for a fraction of a second. "Hurry!"

"Okay! Okay!" Harriet spluttered, getting Luke to help her lift John gently down onto a cement step while Emily held the IV high in one hand, the phone in the other.

Harold pulled the chair close to himself with his foot before jamming it between the door and a large pipe coming out of the wall; barely, but somehow managing to keep it shut. It was far from stable, and would probably only last a few minutes at most, "That won't keep them off long." he muttered, pushing past them to get to John.

"What the hell are you doing?" Harriet shrieked as the man lifted John up into his arms with a loud grunt.

"Getting this sorry bastard out of here!"

The first few sets of stairs were the easiest, Harold taking the lead as the others tailed him down, John cringing only so often when a step jolting him too much and hurt. It got harder after that, Harold was getting tired and less careful about how carelessly he kept John still. Emily kept mumbling into the mobile, "We-we're almost there! N-no, John is fine." she lied, trying to cover the phone when he let out an exceptionally loud cry of pain.

Harold, for all he was worth, was stronger then he looked, and managed to get John all the way to the first set of welcoming hospital doors before Sherlock took over. They carefully traded off; John more then happy with the new development, but less happy with the stabbing sensation it sent through his side as he shifted from one set of arms to another. "Tell the driver outside to get the doors open!" Sherlock ordered, locking eyes with a timid looking Emily.

It was a luxurious car, not a cab. A Holmes car; with seating that faced inward on itself like booths in a restaurant. Harriet ran ahead with Emily and piled inside while she spoke with the driver, Harold right behind her. They helped Sherlock load John carefully inside and set him down on one of the seats. Luke kept Emily outside the car as he shut the door, wrapping her up in a comforting hug as the wheels screeched in protest at the speed they began to flee in.

"Hey you kids!" One of the security members shouted desperately, seemingly out of breath, "Stop!"

The car was gone' a victory. Emily and Luke were taken back inside the hospital by the men, but locked hands, sending support to one another.

* * *

><p>"Should he be flopping around like that?!" Harriet mothered, trying to pull John's head up onto her lap as the boys busied around him.<p>

"You lot overextended your luck! What are you, mad?!" Sherlock was insulting them as he pulled John's hospital shirt open and fumbled with the wrap around his torso, "If you've messed with anything he'll not only be in pain, but could hurt himself more!"

"Well how else were we supposed to get him out!?" Harold retorted, "The elevator was too slow and those bloody security guards were hot on our trail!"

"Keep that bag elevated. Those are standard issue pain medications, it should help with the pain.. but I can't re-dress the wound until we find somewhere to go!" Sherlock growled, "What was his diagnosis?"

"Small fracture of one of his ribs." Harold informed, gently resting a hand on John's shoulder.

"Fractures are fragile! If he was jostled about too much it could injure him further!"

Harriet scowled at him, "We were desperate!"

"How do you even know war is starting? Where is your proof?!" he shouted accusingly in response.

"There was someone outside the door when we talked about you, just waiting there listening. They left after John said your name. Whoever it was knows that you are his mystery lover." she heatedly replied, gently petting the top of John's head.

"What if it was a nurse?"

"Then call it women's intuition!" Harriet replied.

Sherlock let out a low, irritable groan before barking, "You're a man!"

* * *

><p>Emily and Luke were sitting hand in hand on a loveseat in the hospital waiting room, cornered by Thomas and James, the rest of the gangsters behind them, proudly supporting their Dons. "So" James began, his mobster tone oozing past his teeth, "Where did you take my son?"<p>

Cory stepped beside him timidly, "They're only kids James..."

"They were heard." he barked, snapping at his brother harshly, "John said he'd been shagging the Holmes boy! That bloody irresponsible playboy shagged up my son! Probably for no other reason then to mess with the alliance that would have taken place. He's nothing but trouble, doesn't even attend peace meetings!" he griped.

Thomas nodded, "Probably forced him into it too. That boy isn't gay. I've known him since he was a little toddler."

"But they're together!" Emily replied forcefully, regretting her outburst the moment the words left her mouth. She shrank back into her seat nervously, "I-I mean.. it wasn't forced or anything.. they.. love each other." her words were now almost a whisper, and she kept her eyes locked on the hand that linked with hers, looking to it for assurance. "John didn't care that it wasn't proper... he loves him."

There was a gentle squeeze on her hand as Luke nodded, "This isn't an issue of forceful-"

"You're only kids!" Thomas spat, "What could you know? This is a nasty perversion brought on by that corrupted Holmes family!"

"My son, is not. Gay." James added, hushed as if unsure, but filled with such clear hatred, such dignified disgust, that it sent a chill down Luke's spine.

When Cory looked to the two of them, Luke had fallen back into the chair, wanting to disappear from his father's gaze as he slowly pulled his hand away from Emily's. The men were outraged, believing that the Holmes had planned it all, so deluded by their own hatred that they couldn't except the real, and almost _more_ believing scenario then the one they'd imagines. They'd taken it as a declaration of war, exactly as Harriet had predicted.

"It's all these bloody kids of yours Cory." James glared, stabbing mental daggers at his brother, "They've all gone rogue!"

James continued to insult their father rashly and without filtering. He was angry, and with right. He had no idea any of this nonsense was taking place and couldn't bring himself to accept it. Yes he was upset, but not _nearly_ as much as the brooding man next to him. Thomas wanted to fuel his anger at John and burn it all to the ground, but since John was safe and well out of the way by now, he had no choice but to target it all at the other half of the affair; Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

><p>Sherlock forced the black curls out of his eyes with frustration as he leaned over a weary and pained John. It wouldn't do them any good to try and change John's bandages in the back of the car. They didn't have the proper equipment, and the hospital's worn job would probably be better then a fresh, yet desperate patch up. Harriet was petting his hair soothingly over her lap, but had pleading, worried eyes locked on Sherlock as he thought about what to do. "We'll be there soon." he muttered assuringly.<p>

"Where?" Harold questioned from his seat on the opposite side of the car.

"I own a flat on Baker Street, its a secret to my family and I only ever use it for emergencies. It's the best place for now."

Harold crossed his arms silently before raising his head to Harriet, "You think Emily and Luke will be alright?"

Harriet nodded faintly, "Cory is James' brother. They're his niece and nephew. James wouldn't hurt them, even if we _did_ run off with his son." she shifted in her seat uncomfortably before adding, "My father can be crude, but he's not evil."

"And Thomas?" he questioned, "That man has a short temper and a big mouth."

"Like I said." she mumbled, returning her attention to John as he breathed heavily, "James wouldn't let them be hurt."

* * *

><p>Brent and Tony were standing shoulder to shoulder in the back of the small crowd of mafia standing behind their Dons. Brent didn't like where the entire conversation was going, especially when Thomas starting using suggestive words that made him uncomfortable. Things like "execution" "justice" and even "slaughter" were used when he started talking about revenge. He was trying to convince James that the kids had gone rogue and to take the matter into his own hands. James was a proud man, who always let pride get in the way of what really mattered. He'd fall for it.<p>

It sounded like a rowel was coming, maybe worse. Brent glanced casually to the boy at his side. Tony was new and innocent, about to be entering a world of carnage blindly and without much experience. He'd be eaten alive; _killed_. Brent really didn't want to see that happen to the kid. Despite the normalcy he'd usual feel towards newcomers, he'd really started to like the boy. It had surprised even himself.

Brent was jolted from his thoughts when his pocket buzzed. He fumbled around in the pocket of his jeans hastily before thumbing the buttons on his keyboard.

**Harriet: We're fine and so is John, but Emily and Luke are innocents, you know what's coming. Don't let them get hurt. Please.**

Brent let out a soft, nearly whisper of a laugh. He'd known Harriet back when he still went by Harry, and they'd been best of friends for the longest time. He was glad to know her time in America hadn't altered anything. Shoving the mobile back into his pocket, Brent gently gripped onto Tony's wrist, gaining his attention before nodding his head back, letting him know they needed to leave.

Tony followed obediently, being pulled along silently as Brent's phone buzzed again.

"Brent?" he finally questioned once they'd made it into the long, tiled, hospital hallway. "What are we doing?"

Holding up the phone with a devilish grin, "Going rogue."

* * *

><p><strong>Well, I'm sorry that my OCs are through the roof, I really didn't realize how many I'd racked up until this chapter honestly.. but they're all important. *shrug* well, I hope you like them. Let me know? I can't really tell if they're described enough or you really know them yet. Honestly.. I wanted to do a spin off specifically for Brent and Tony too.. but ^_^ I'll leave that up to you guys. Please Review! It helps me soooo much to know what my readers enjoy. It seriously helps the story believe it or not.<strong>


	19. The Third

John had been carefully tucked into one of the bedrooms built into Sherlock's flat. The room that Harriet and Harold occupied was quiet, save for the busy street noises below. People going to and from, so concerned with their own lives they didn't even know there was a nuclear explosion of drama unfurling only a few steps to their left. That, or they just didn't care. People in London were like that, not always caring, hardly every actually seeing truth.. but then again, _people_ in general were like that. Rather stupid really.

Harold was pacing obnoxiously, his socked-feet thumping along the wooden floor as he chewed on an already stumpy nail. Harriet was sitting opposite on a large sofa, legs and arms crossed prevailingly, "What's got you all worked up? John will be fine! Sherlock is in the other room re-dressing his wounds as we speak!"

"I'm not worried about that." he huffed, "It's obvious that bastard loves him."

"Then what's wrong with you? You're putting _me_ on edge."

Harold sighed heavily; giving in, "It was only a few bloody days ago the four of us were all sitting around at Wolseley, arguing over who'd pay the bill..." he rubbed a hand over his face wearily, trying to calm himself down, "I don't know. I guess its not something to be nervous over, but what will they do to Luke and Emily?"

Harriet frowned, "I told you, they'll be fine."

"And Mike?" He spat in reply, "Mary? Dad? Mom? James and Andrea? What's going to happen?"

It was quiet for a short time while Harold plopped himself down beside her, covering his face with his hands, as if hoping if he didn't look at his problems, he might not have to deal with them. Harriet leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder as she pulled her legs up onto the sofa. "I don't know.." she admitted, voice cracking only the tiniest bit, "But.. we'll be alright. It's too late to change the past."

Harold was looking at her-him now. He'd always promised to think of Harriet as a girl since she'd come out to him nearly a year ago. He'd wondered how he'd managed to think of her as a woman for the longest time, but was now looking for it. The were clear creases in her shirt where a bra was obviously stuffed, and she was close enough for him to pinpoint the broad shoulders well enough. She was still a man, but.. you really wouldn't know the difference if you weren't looking for it.

Subconsciously, his eyes started nitpicking for the beautiful, girly parts of Harriet now, passing over anything he'd found manly like it was nothing. He loved her skin, even for a man it was smooth looking and lax. Her hair was her own, grown out down to her shoulders and curled into giant waves that bounced when she walked. He'd remembered that much, it wasn't an obvious Tranny wig he'd though it would be. He chuckled verbally, making Harriet frown up at him.

"What's so funny?" she accused.

"Just found myself mistaking you for a woman!"

Harriet punched his chest hard enough for him to let out a solid gasp of air, "What's so funny about that? I _am _a woman!"

"And I'm a toddler." he teased, nonchalantly rubbing his sore chest.

"You _are _a toddler."

Harold pretended to be offended, "Twenty one next week thank you very much!"

She chuckled whole heartedly, suddenly realizing just how tired she was-letting her eyes close, leaving Harold alone with silent thought. He was enjoying this post-apocalyptic lock up they seemed to be under, and hand[t expected this much humor to go down at the end of the world. His mind started wandering to it's source, and that pesky source's lover too. He wondered how they'd fair after it was over, and if they'd even survive the fighting at all. "Harriet?" he began.

"hmm?" she hummed lazily, rubbing her face into his shoulder in attempt to get more comfortable.

"What do you think will happen to those two?"

Harriet smiled warmly, drawing her shoulders up like a love-sick girl, "They'll live happily ever after. That's what people in love do.."

He chuckled, "You believe in that shit?"

"Language." she warned, snapping an uninterested eye open.

Harold laughed again, "You're just like Mike."

"I should be. We grew up together, learned about _manners_ from the same teacher. Sometimes I swear we could be related by blood. It's almost scary." Slowly, she pulled herself away, making Harold's shoulder instantly feel cold. "I wish you would have learned some manners too." she teased.

Harold grinned, the two of them continuing rather pointless conversation as John finally stirred in the other room. He groaned when his eyes opened. He wasn't hurting too bad, but he didn't recognize where he was, and the smell of the room was foreign to his nostrils. He'd started to panic before a calm hand pressed the upper folds of his arm, "John?"

Turning his head, John was met with the happy sight of a smiling, weary-eyes Sherlock, sitting at his bedside, "Worried?" he muttered weakly, but with such a pleased smile his voice didn't hide any level of happiness.

"To death." Sherlock returned, a grin just as bright, "You fell unconscious on the ride here, you bled internally a little, but I'd studied splintering a little while back and remembered enough from my medical response research to know how to help it. You should be fine, but I wouldn't move for quite sometime. Those idiots really pushed you to the limit."

John was giddy and not caring about the injury. He felt comfortable, and relieved to have the man he loved beside him, "So.. where exactly are we?"

"You're in my bedroom.. in my flat."

"Anything to eat?"

Sherlock gifted him with a silent nod and a kiss to the temple before standing, "I'll have that mothering brother of yours fix you something, afraid I'm not much of a cook." He left as John starting chuckling softly.

* * *

><p>"I don't like this anymore then you do Thomas, but do you really think we need to-"<p>

"Andrea." James snapped, silencing his wife from where she sat beside him, making her frown sadly, "Thomas and I have agreed that what the Holmes family has done was unforgivable and rather bluntly, disgraceful. We will not have our family be shamed by.. _two_ gay sons. It's time to take action!"

"Yes, but-"

"He's right Andrea!" Thomas interrupted, "If we let them get away with it once, you can be sure that they'll try something again. This will be the last time any Holmes makes a fool out of _us_." He lit the cigar is his mouth, puffing a hearty cloud of smoke out before continuing, "We'll show those pompous bastards!"

Andrea fiddled with her hands in her lap, trying not to worsen the situation, but this was not a smart move. She looked to James for encouragement, finding the assurance she wanted in his eyes as he placed a calming hand over hers, "This is for the family Andrea."

"I don't agree with it James, but... I want to make sure John isn't hurt. James, think of the children! How will this effect them?"

"Don't you know better then to talk back to your husband?" Thomas huffed in outrage, "It's loose taming like this that let both of your sons to this Jame-"

"What my wife chooses to say is none of your concern Thomas." her husband spat;warningly , "She speaks with good point."

Thomas muttered something faint, but the scowl on his face made his thoughts on the matter perfectly clear as he stood from his seat, ankle-length coat whipping behind him as he stomped out of the Watson's sitting room, "I'm setting the wheels in motion," he yelled back before letting himself out of their home.

"He's just angry James." Andrea assured him, noting the hurt expression her husband made, "It won't hurt your friendship."

"Thomas has not been himself lately, but he had no right to speak to you like that." James growled, standing with his wine glass before entering the kitchen, and pouring himself another.

Andrea followed him in, wrapping her arms around his chest from behind, and coddling her head into his back, "James... what's happening to the world?"

He chugged the small bit he'd poured for himself before turning to hold her, "I don't know Andrea, I don't know." he pet her back gently, "but we'll make it through this. We're Watsons. We keep our head high and carry on."

"Do you think John is alright?"

"Harriet and Harold wouldn't leave him in bad hands. He'll be just fine Andrea."

James was weary about his choice to attack the Holmes, but it was what needed to happen. They'd broken the rules and regulations, cavorting with his son and ruining their peace-bringing marriage. It wasn't an easily forgivable act, but he was looking out for his children. He wouldn't let either of them get caught in the crossfire. He'd been angry and broken when Harry has announced himself gay, and his pride was bruised even more when his eldest son admitted to being a transvestite as well. It was impossible to have _two_ gay sons, wasn't it?

The Wastons be damned if his line was lost to a bloody _Holmes_ boy. And so, with stern belief in his decision, James held his wife. He'd keep his children safe from harm and humiliation, even if it was to his dying breath, because that's what fathers did. Yes, safe. He'd keep his children safe.

All three of three of them.


	20. American Dispute (Jammy Dodgers)

Jammy Dodgers.

Oh my god, Jammy Dodgers.

John, once he'd recovered from the hard bash-about he'd been given by their getaway, had started having stranger cravings. So strange in fact one might think he was pregnant. Right now, he was in the middle of his second box of Jammy Dodgers, scarfing them down shamelessly with a fresh cuppa tea only half-drank on his bedside. Harold was disgusted, Harriet intrigued, and Sherlock, studying the phenomenon to piggy back off of his (apparently bland) medical research.

John licked the crumbs of his latest pastry off his fingers before taking a sip of his tea, staring up at the three people around his bed. Hesitantly, he held the box out, "Sorry, did you want one?"

"How in the hell are you as thin as you are?" Harold asked, face skewed with disbelief.

Harriet chuckled, "I'm surprised he hasn't asked for a third box yet."

"I was getting to that.."

"Seriously!?" Harold screeched, astounded, "You want more?!"

"I'm hungry.." John frowned, "and injured."

Sherlock took a couple more seconds of John's figure in before turning on his heel, "I've got it."

"Marry me!" John yelled at him once he was out the door, fantastically bright smile on his face.

Harold pretended to vomit, "You two are so disgustingly cute."

"They _are_!" Harriet grinned, bumping his arm with her elbow, "You're just jealous."

"Of what?!"

"He gets sweets."

Harold thought of several different comebacks in his head before deciding not to be even bother, letting out a loud huff of submission, "Whatever."

"You really are a toddler aren't you?" She teased, their laugher halting immediately when John let out a wince of pain, "John?"

He smiled half-heartedly, "I'm fine, chest just hurts. I really need to stand though..."

"No way." Harold ordered, "We already had you running around before, I'm more worried about what your boyfriend will do to us if we let you up than your inability to stretch. Just stay put."

"Fine." John growled, settling back against the pillow. "Any word from home?"

Harriet plopped herself down on the foot of his bed, pulling up her mobile, "Brent's been texting me. Thomas and dad are planning an attack on the Holmes mansion, and from what I've heard, it's full force. Every Capo from both Morstans and Watsons are being called away from routine. If the other families haven't already figured out something was up, then I'd be surprised."

"And Luke?"

"He and Emily are fine." she smiled, turning to nudge Harold's arm, "Worry wart over here thought they'd be in trouble too, so I made sure Brent has someone looking after them." she shrugged lightly, "Besides, it was more worrisome to think about what Thomas would try then dad."

"I wasn't talking about father." John replied, adjusting the covers around himself to try and numb the pain he'd stirred up in his side earlier, "I was wondering what he plans to do. I don't doubt father's good intentions one bit."

"What do you mean?" Harold interjected.

John sighed, "Luke's the newest Capo isn't he? It's small, but he does in fact have some soldiers. Do you think he'll follow them and storm the Holmes?"

"He wouldn't do that!" Harriet shouted defensively, "He's loyal to you John. He'd take up your side every time."

"_My_ side?" he winced, "There are no _sides_ here. I'm not fighting my father!"

"No, you're not." Harold agreed, slumping against the bedroom wall with crossed arms, "But you're against Thomas, whether or not you want to be."

"Meaning?" Harriet demanded.

Harold frowned, "He broke the engagement by sleeping with a Holmes. That's grounds for treason on its own, but with Thomas you can be sure he's got a grudge to bear. The man's got an unhealthy love for his daughter, and you broke the girl's heart."

"Your _point_ Harold?" Harriet growled in warning, noticing the way John's head drooped with guilt.

"My point is that even though he and James are pals, I don't believe he'd think twice about harming John. In fact he'll most likely try to seek out an opportunity for it. Isn't that the whole reason we rushed him out of the hospital in the first place? Thomas will have your head if-"

"If he finds John..."

All eyes looked up to the doorway where Sherlock was standing, a tray of Jammy Dodgers and a fresh pot of tea. He silently set it down on one of the nightstands before ruffling a frustrated hand though his hair, "I can contact my brother, tell him to get ready for their attack, but... I don't think we can change this."

John chuckled with sad monotone, "This is our fault."

"I don't regret it."

John looked up as Sherlock stared with determination, making him smile weakly in reply. He really did love Sherlock, but he felt so guilty for causing all this, just because he'd fallen for a man with a particular last name. That wasn't fair. "I don't either, I just wish we could get away from all of this..."

"Come to America with me." Harriet offered, glancing between the two of them with complete seriousness, "We can leave here, then you won't be bothered by it. We can't stay in this flat forever, and John's not safe with Thomas on the loose, let alone in his condition."

"America?" John mumbled, breathlessly, "Run away?"

"What else can you do? There's no way to stop this now. You and Sherlock could start over. It's safe."

Sherlock was quiet, biting a thumb in concentration, obviously lost in thought, "How soon can we get passports?"

"Sherlock!"

"It's not running away John. It's clever. There's nothing left for us in London." he snapped.

"But... America!"

Harold pushed himself off the wall urgently, an angry scowl on his face, "John! I don't ask for much from you, but my god man. Go! Listen to us! This is ridiculous no matter how you look at it. _You_ caused this. We're just trying to pick up the bloody pieces!"

He seemed to only realize what he'd said after it left his mouth. Harold let out a frustrated huff of air before stomping out of the room, Harriet jumping off the bed to catch him after giving John an apologetic look. John, was trying not to read into it too much, squinting his eyes shut before pushing the bridge of his nose with two calloused fingers, "What do I do Sherlock?"

The man knelt beside his lover's bed; elbow on the mattress being used to support his head, the other hand grasping over one of John's. He smiled genuinely, "Come to America with me John." he pulled the hand in between both of his now, pressing his forehead lightly against it, and gaining John's full attention, "I want you to come with me. Like your brother said, you'll be safe, and we can get away from all the family melodrama."

"Sherlock.."

"You told me before you hated your family, and you didn't want to be apart of this. We have the option to leave. So...come with me, let's leave this all behind."


	21. James and the Affair

John was silent, but only for a moment.

His loud chuckles resounded past the thin walls of the bedroom and out to where Harriet was currently trying to calm down Harold's temper. John was grinning like a mad man, "That was surprisingly cheesy don't you think?"

Sherlock shrugged, "I'm still a human, contrary to popular belief." he flipped down onto his back, parallel with John as he shut his eyes, "I was serious though." he muttered.

John's laughter seemed to die down a little after that, and he let himself fall beside Sherlock, still grinning, but with less of a mocking intention. He snuggled himself into Sherlock's side, "I love you."

Sherlock smiled contently, wrapping an arm around John as he tried to pull the man a little closer still, "I'd hope so."

"Shut up you cock."

Sherlock tilted his head to press a gentle, assuring kiss to John's forehead, using his hand to rub soothingly over John's arm, "I'm still waiting for an answer."

The arm curled up over Sherlock's chest tightened it's grip, "..You'll have to let me think about it a little longer."

"That's fine." Came the low reply, "However, please consider yourself in your decision. I know you're a very caring person, but you've got to understand that there's nothing left for you to do here. There's no way to reset the past."

John let out a heavy sigh, curling in a little on himself, "I know that, but I still have to try don't I?"

"Why must you make matters worse for yourself?" Sherlock muttered, half of him finding the entire subject amusing, the other seriously concerned with the way John was considering risking his own well being for the sake of others. It wasn't a healthy habit, especially for the son of a mob boss.

"It's just the way I am I suppose..." John replied, letting his eyes open wearily, "I guess it's something that really runs in my family..."

* * *

><p>The front doorstep of the Watson estate was cruel and unwelcoming, setting Mike on edge as he neared it. Something about houses, they seemed to reflect the attitude of their occupants often, which was quite a scary thing truthfully. Coming to visit the Watsons was always something Mike liked doing. Today however, he was dreading it more then ever. With exhausted resistance, he let his fist collide with the door, knocking with strength.<p>

He only had to wait a short time before it was propped open.

Mrs. Hudson smiled to him as she greeted the boy, "Mike! It's been a while since I last saw you around here. Where've you been? How's Madeline? She doesn't come around here either, not since her pregnancy in fact, poor dear. I miss her terribly. You know, she used to spend her time here-"

"Mother's fine Mrs. Hudson, but if you don't mind I have some rather urgent business to discuss with James and Andrea.."

"Oh, oh yes of course." She muttered, pulling the door open the full length and stepping aside, "They should be in the kitchen, I just made a fresh pot of tea."

Mike had just about ignored the rest of her sentence as he quickly made his way into the kitchen, alarming the two that sat at the table, almost causing Andrea to spill her tea, "Mike! Hello, I didn't know you'd be stopping b-"

"I'm sorry Andrea, but I came here with an important purpose." He interrupted, stopping just short of the wooden table, hands stiff at his sides.

"And that would be?" James questioned, raising the cup to his lips casually.

"...I want to fight front line tomorrow."

This time it was James' turn to spill tea down his shirt, growling furiously as the hot liquid stung at his skin, "What are you talking about?!" he exclaimed, grabbing a napkin off the table to try and clean his shirt.

"Harold is missing, and Luke's doesn't have any experience, not to mention in light of recent events I don't think he'll be fighting at all honestly." Mike stayed still, examining the two that stared up at him from the table, "I want to be on the front lines leading my men against those bastards."

"Why the sudden intrigue?" Andrea questioned.

Mike scowled, "I don't approve of what they did to John, or Mary for that matter. The entire affair has effected her terribly, and I can't just sit idly around while she cries her eyes out." the blonde drew in a deep breath. "Those bastards should take responsibility for their bastard son."

"No." James frowned, standing up nonchalantly to get water from the kitchen sink in attempt to clean the tea stains off his shirt.

"N-no?"

"James?" Andrea busied, fingers wrapped tightly around her teacup.

James ran the water for a couple of seconds over his napkin before pulling it back to his shirt, "You're too young."

"I am not! I'm as old as my father when he started fighting!" Mike protested.

James let out a low, half hearted chuckle, "Yes, and we all thought he was going to die in that row too. It's not like the training courses boy."

"I know that." he snapped, taking a few steps closer in earnest, "I want to fight!"

"No!"

Mike clenched his fists tightly. He'd only come over to get James' approval. He was a good Capo, and led his soldiers well, this was uncalled for, "Why shouldn't I be allowed to fight beside my family? I _want_ to be a part of this, but you deny me that?"

"You're not ready."

"I am! I'm one of the top Watson Capos! Without me there won't be enough force to take on the Holmes! You should know better then me that if those proud bastards haven't already figured out that we plan to attack they'll have preparations for defense by the time we get there tomorrow! You need me!"

"Then you'll fight behind the main rows!" James barked, slamming angry fists down on either sides of the kitchen sink, making Andrea jump from her seat.

Mike was headstrong, and determined to be allowed to fight, "Why won't you let me fight!?"

"Because I don't want you getting hurt!" He bellowed, turning around suddenly with an infuriated expression.

"You're not my father, you can't tell me what to do!"

"If you weren't so childish, you'd see the danger you're unnecessarily putting yourself in!"

Andrea, in petty attempts to calm the two down, rose from her seat, standing between the two of them with arms out, "Calm down, both of you." she ordered sternly, using her motherly tone to get the two under wraps, "Fighting amongst ourselves isn't going to solve anything."

"He's just a boy. He needs to learn his place."

"What, like John and Harriet?" Mike bellowed, "You going to throw me out of your house too? Or call me a disgrace? Force me to marry someone I don't want?"

"That's enough out of you Mike!" James demanded, pushing Andrea out of the way roughly before grapping up the boy's collar, "Cory may be my brother, but I don't think he's disciplined the lot of you well enough. John might still be here if it wasn't for you and those three disobedient, ungrateful children!"

"Don't insult my siblings!" Mike retorted, struggling to free himself from James' iron grip.

"Those damn brats aren't your siblings! You're better then that!"

Mike's struggling stopped, and he stared up at James with an angry, confused, even.. hesitant expression, "Wh-what did you say?"

James pushed the boy away, not with brute force, but enough to get the message across. He ran his hands down the front of his face ashamedly, trying to block out the way Andrea was staring at him like he was an alien, "Those kids... they're not your siblings." he repeated, voice just barely above a whisper.

"What.. what are you talking about?" Mike stuttered, breathing heavy breaths in attempt to regain his stature after their fight, "Of course they are. I mean.. Wha-What are you playing at old man!? Are you trying to piss me off?!"

"No..." James muttered, regaining breath himself, "It's the truth."

"James?" Andrea questioned, backing away a little as he examined her husband up and down, as if he were something she'd never seen before.

"I'm sorry Andrea, but it happened quite a while ago."

"What.. what happened a while ago James?"

Both her and Mike were now staring at James, eyes demanding he continue his story. With a heavy intake of air, he did. He told them all about how they'd assumed Cory would die in that fight, and how Andrea went off to wish him well. How James had his suspicions of Andrea being in love with his brother their entire courtship. "Madeline had her doubts too, but she loved Cory all the same. Just as I love you Andrea..."

Andrea had drawn her arms up over herself, and had crossed the short distance to stand beside Mike, almost trying to hide herself behind him as James went on, "She was a wreck, all the workers had been grieving for her already, and it only made her worse." he raked a hand through his hair before sending another distressed look at his wife, "It wasn't planned, and we didn't have many feelings for each other. It just... happened really."

"Oh god..." Andrea muttered, her eyes becoming absent as she stared at his eyes with utter betrayal, "You slept with her?"

"I didn't know she was pregnant until after our marriage, and it was just lucky that Cory made it out alive really... It would have been hard to pass the baby off as anyone else's, but- it was what had to be done. We swore never to tell but, the pressure of recent events just..."

"You... you thought that I loved Cory?"

James lifted his head, and tried to reach out to her, "I'm so sorry Andrea-"

"No!" She screeched, shrinking away from his touch, "Don't touch me!" she could barely contain the tears in her eyes as she ran from the room, her husband shouting distressed, pleading words from the kitchen. She didn't want to see him at that moment. She felt betrayed. Mike was the child of Madeline and _her_ husband. Madeline was one of her closest friends, and the thought of her... with James... it was just too much to handle.

* * *

><p>"I see..." Mycroft replied, breathing heavy sighs into the phone as he let the information sink in, "And you're certain about this?"<p>

Sherlock grunted in response, "I wasn't going to go off their word alone, but our mole in the Morstan house confirms it. There's going to be an attack on you from both them and the Watson family. Apparently they think we've invented some sort of conspiracy and seduced John Watson out of his arranged marriage."

"That's preposterous! None of us have even come into contact with him!"

Sherlock figured his silence would be enough fro his brother to deduce the situation at hand, and figure things out for himself. There was an unsatisfied groan from the other end of the line as Mycroft let out a heavy sigh, "You? You met with the Watson boy?"

"We're lovers."

"You fool! You realize what you've done?!"

"I didn't know who he was when we met. He didn't either." he chuckled lightly, "We didn't make the connection ourselves until the marriage meeting the week before last. It was quite a shock as I'm sure you can imagine."

"I'm not interested in your shags Sherlock." Mycroft growled in warning, "Apologize to the families and agree to never see him again. That should satisfy them."

"I can't do that Mycroft."

There was an irritated noise on the other side, what it was exactly Sherlock couldn't make out, "And why is that, brother of mine?"

"..I love him."

The silence on the other end helped Sherlock imagine the shocked expression his brother was no doubt wearing at that point, "You.. you what?"

"I love him." he repeated, "I can't leave him."

"Sherlock... what's going on with you lately? You've never even shown interest in people. Let alone... fallen in love? and you're quite sure?"

"Do you honestly believe I'd say that if I wasn't sure? Let alone twice?"

Mycroft let out a soft hum from the other end of the line before letting curiosity get the better of himself, "And where is the Watson boy now? Are you with him?"

"Him, his cousin, and brother. John's sleeping at the moment, and I forced the other two out for groceries."

"Quite the family reunion."

Sherlock smirked, "They're as rowdy as he is, in fact, I'd say worse."

"I'm sure you know that you'll be a direct target if you're caught."

"I realize. It's not only me though." Sherlock cradled the phone between his shoulder before cracked open the door to peek on his lover, making sure everything was still alright, probably just to give himself peace of mind as they continued, "John's a target too. Apparently the Morstan Don had a temper to be reckoned with, and he blames John for the affair."

"Thomas. I'm aware of him and his... rather dysfunctional nature." Mycroft rubbed the cartilage of his nose with a groan, "What's your plan of action?"

"America."

"America!?"

Sherlock let the door close quietly as he reentered the hall, "John's brother lived there for a long period of time, and offered us a place to stay. It'll be safest for John since he's in a crucial state at the moment. There's no way to protect himself should the need arise."

"Yes... I suppose it is the most logical course of action. What does he have to say about this?"

"He's indecisive." Sherlock mumbled, "He has a good heart, and what's to try and fix the situation."

"We'll there's no possible course of action that can stop this now. If there is an attack tomorrow then we only have about eight or so hours."

"He's stubborn."

Mycroft lingered for a moment, deciding finally on what he wanted to say, "Be careful Sherlock."

"I always am."

"Sherlock. This is serious. You've been living the life of free-range shags and an endless pocket full of money. If you're going to keep down this road, it's time to leave that behind you and become responsible. Not only for yourself, but for this man."

"Not a boy anymore then?"

"If _you've _laid hands on him, I think it's hardly fair to be calling him a boy. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Either way, it's all just a matter of getting him on that flight tomorrow. This whole matter comes to an end in the morning. We might not even get to talk to each other again." the chuckle Sherlock tried to give came out a little more heartfelt and strangled then he'd really wanted it to. It was true that he and his brother didn't get along on the best of days, but they were still brothers. He frowned before continuing, "Take care of yourself."

"Same to you, brother of mine."'

"Brother of mine." Sherlock repeated before sighing heavily and clicking the end button on his mobile.

* * *

><p><strong>Guess what? This story is coming to an end. Now, I've been trying to keep this secret for as long as possible, but since the next chapter brings an end, I suppose it's time to spill. This story is actually going to have <em>two<em> endings. What differs the outcome in both of these, I'm sure you can guess -but if not, then you'll have to wait until the next chapters are updated. I hope you've been enjoying this story and I must say I'm fairly sad to see it end. Two more chapters. Two final endings to come. How surprising was it to find out Mike was James' and Madeline's son? So he's like.. the half brother of John and Harriet, and I guess technically Harold, Luke and Emily are his half siblings too. So complicated. Did you see it coming? Let me know! :)**


	22. Ending 1

**Let me just start off by saying, F**k this chapter, (pardon my French) but seriously, I had the last part written before the first part then was like, "Oh no! They're not there yet!" I thought about just putting in another chapter before the endings but I said in my last chapter that these were the last two, so there. That's why it took forever, and why this chapter is one of the longest I've ever written for OD. While I'm here, thank you so much to everyone who supported this story with reviews, favorites, and all that jazz. It really makes me more inspired to write knowing that people are enjoying the story as much as I am. These guys are my babies. :3 I'm going to warn you, there are a lot of time jumps/character point of view changes, so be prepared. Anyway, hope you've been enjoying this story, as it comes to an end. Now, on with the show!**

* * *

><p>John had woken up before Sherlock noticed him, and did manage to hear Sherlock's half of the conversation and realized that his decision to try and fix his mess was probably a bad one, but something in his gut just wouldn't let him leave it alone. He had to at least try, even if everyone seemed to think it was pointless.<p>

It was a little hard to get around, but his chest was splintered well enough that the pain was minimal. He could get around, with minimal discomfort and of course, the slight awkwardness of being in nothing more then a customary hospital gown and a pear of sweatpants. It was a little awkward, but he managed to get the hang of it. Trying to get out the window though? That might be more difficult. He contemplated another option, but Sherlock was occupying the hallway and there was no way he'd be able to just leave. Sherlock would keep him from going, and he couldn't fight him on it.

With every ounce of determination he had, John forced one leg out the window, thanking whoever was listening there was a ledge. It was barely enough to put a foot on, but it was a ledge nevertheless.

John had never given much thought to water pipes, but at that moment he was considering kissing the large one that hung off the side of the apartment building and strung down just a little over the street. It made it easier to slide down and plant his feet firmly on the ground.

Even though it was cold, John wasn't going to back down on his decision. He gave the window of the flat one last glance before continuing on. He'd hail a cab and get to the Holmes manor. That was really all the plan he had so far, but he had to do something. Loving Sherlock brought a lot of pain to the people around him, but he didn't regret it. Not regretting it was what made him guilty. John finally managed to find a cabbie willing to drive someone in a hospital gown and sweatpants. He was one of those burly men who just took the money and didn't ask questions. He was sort of distantly silent though. It made for a rather uncomfortable ride while John tried to figure out what exactly he would do when he got to the manor.

Of course, by now Sherlock had come back to check on John.

* * *

><p>"What do you mean he's gone?!" Harriet practically screamed into her mobile, making Harold jump beside her, almost dropping the groceries in hand.<p>

Sherlock was busy shrugging into a coat, "I _mean_ he's gone. That idiot will kill himself!"

"Then get out there and stop him!" She ordered, pushing Harold into a cab, "I'll bet my cherry heels that he's gone up to the manor. Nothing was going to soothe his conscience over this whole affair. He really wanted to help!"

"I know that." Sherlock groaned, racing down the stairs while trying to remain as calm as possible, which was a hard feat to accomplish, "If we don't manage to stop him who knows what will happen. There's a big target on his back, and I'm sure many people would be all too happy to take the shot."

"Don't say things like that! Just get your arse out there and help him!"

The phone clicked off on the other end and Sherlock was forced to pull his mobile away from his ear when the end dial-tone rang noisily. "Damn it." he muttered, fishing around in his contacts for his driver's number before punching angrily at the buttons.

John had already convinced his taxi driver to go a few miles over the speed limit, and was just seconds away from the building; so close he could see it. It was large, and consorted of brick-by-brick walls that screamed uninviting. It wouldn't have looked like a manor at all if it wasn't in the middle of nowhere, a large drive leading up to the gigantic building. They were trying to keep strangers out and nosy neighbors uninterested. A logical move, John supposed, but he'd been expecting something more grand and proud, like any good show off would inhabit.

There was a defensive line of standard issue army vehicles that loaded at least ten men each that stood empty, blocking off the road. The cabbie made a strangled sound when two boys with guns rounded the trucks and stepped in front of the cab, pointing their weapons at the driver. "What the hell kind of trouble are you in boy?" he cringed, taking his hands off the wheel to raise in surrender.

John apologized to the driver before handing him his pay and stepping out of the vehicle with only a little bit of pain in his side. He recognized one of the two when he lowered his gun, let out a rather surprised breath before dismissing the driver and making his way over to John. It was Brent. "John.." he muttered, "I thought you were-"

"Where's my father?" He interrupted, his voice filled with desperate persistence.

The brunette shared a knowing look with the smaller boy at his side before returning his gaze to John, "What are you doing here John?" he questioned, gripping at the hilt of his gun a little tighter when the second boy turned to head back behind the one of the armored vehicles.

John frowned, "Just let me pass Brent."

"Harriet said you were going to leave for America with your lover. You shouldn't be here. You know it's dangerous."

John's scowl grew deeper when he realized that Brent had no intention of letting him pass. He clutched nervously at his side while he thought about fighting to get past. Maybe it wasn't the best idea, but backing out now that he'd come this far was out of the question.

* * *

><p>By the time Sherlock had gotten to the scene, his house was being mobbed by people with guns and cars that blocked off the roads. He didn't know how to find John now that he was there, and there was no possible chance of sneaking past all these soldiers. He thanked whoever was listening that a man near one of the trucks out front spotted him, and greeted with friendly atmosphere. "You're Sherlock right? I'm Tony."<p>

"Tony?" he parroted, still a little hesitant as to this boy's intentions.

"John was here. You're looking for him right?" the boy waited until Sherlock replied with a silent nod before continuing, "Brent would be standing here instead of me, but he ran off to look for him after they had a little row."

"They fought?" Sherlock frowned, thinking loyally towards John's wounds.

Tony started to walk around the truck, gun pointed down for safety, but still at the ready, "John kicked Brent in his genitals..." Sherlock could clearly see Tony frown defensively, "He sort of... hobbled after him..."

Sherlock let out a low chuckle before raising the back of his hand to his mouth, noticing the way Tony found it _un-_amusing. Tony brought Sherlock as far as he could safely, leading him around to the side of the house that had little to no coverage. Of course it had no one looking after it, there were no doors on that side of the building, and the only windows that you could climb into were a story up. Sherlock groaned when he realized that was probably the only way he'd be getting in.

"Do you want a boost?" Tony offered, wrapping the strap of his gun over his chest so that his gun sprawled over is back.

This wasn't the most dignified of moments for Sherlock, but it would be worth it if he wasn't already too late. No one had actually entered the building yet however. He needed his brother's help, as much as he hated the thought of asking for it. Tony had Sherlock propped up on his shoulders, hanging on to his ankles shakily in petty attempt to keep him standing up straight, "Alright, release my left leg." Sherlock ordered.

"Wait, your left or mine?"

Groaning, he moved the leg he wanted around a little bit, "This one!"

"Alright..." Tony replied, cringing when the weight was shifted to his other shoulder.

Sherlock did his best to get his foot in good grip with the brick that stuck out from the side, his long fingers becoming a curse as they failed to give him sturdy grip from where they grabbed. It took a while, but after a few slips and a very unpleasant second attempt to climb up, Sherlock finally made it to the window, saluting Tony after he'd managed to scramble inside.

All that was left was to find his brother and figure out where John was. Knowing that crazy man, he'd probably be right in the middle of trouble. He could hear bustling coming from down the stairs, and the loud, constant and noisy scrapes of chairs and tables across the floor let Sherlock know they were planning to barricade. That, or set up suitable shields when their rivals entered. He found, upon scaling down the steps, the latter was so. Men were couched behind massive piles of furniture a good pace away from the front, double, inward-swinging doors. The stained glass on either sides of the door let Sherlock peek at the shadows and shapes that seemed to be running around out front. Someone shouted his name, and he was swiftly drawn out of his thoughts.

"Mycroft." Sherlock replied, recognizing the figure that neared him with a confused expression.

"What are you doing here?" Mycroft questioned, wrapping him up in a hug that felt welcoming and well needed, "I thought you were America bound.."

"John is here, I don't know where, but he's somewhere here."

The elder brother frowned, "Fighting?"

"Rebelling." Sherlock retorted, "He thinks he can stop the violence. Or something mad, I've really no idea."

"And you came here to find him. Alright, I've been enlightened." he nodded, "Unfortunately I can't help you very much. We can't get a good visual without them shooting at the windows. I lost a man already, poor buggar."

Sherlock had his brows furrowed and had concentrated his gaze on the shapes that moved behind the windows slower than before, suddenly coming to an alarming stop. "Look ou-"

Sherlock launched himself off the floor, knocking his brother out from under his ankles and taking him down to the ground as well. The blast was loud, and sent shards of wooden door and colored glass flying around the front of the room. A first course of action would have been to take down that barrier that set the two families, but Sherlock hadn't exactly been expecting the front half of their home to be blown away. With the wall gone, the soldiers not already ducked behind the built up piled of furniture were defenseless, some sprawled out on the floor like the brothers, others finding themselves being shot down by a relentless stream of bullets.

Blood and carnage were added to the junk that littered the floor. Sherlock visibly cringed when a corpse dropped at his side, the mangled and terrified looking face staring at him with vacant eyes as the shooting continued. He held defensively onto his brother, who was groaning in what he'd assumed to be pain. He couldn't very well look for an injury in this position. It wasn't until a voice screamed to stop that the bullets seemed to die down.

Sherlock chanced a glace upward when he noticed a body stopping in front of them. John had rushed out into the gunfire to defend him. The idiot probably would have been killed if his father hadn't given the order to ceasefire. He thanked the gods for that.

* * *

><p>With guns targeted from one side to the other, John felt very venerable. His throat suddenly became dry and fragile, like too much volume would break him. He passed his gaze from side to side, his arms still out to them, begging for them to hold off. With a shaky breath for confidence, and a small shuffle to steady his legs, John found his courage, "Look," he began, "We've all got our differences, but don't you think that it's better not to solve them through violence?"<p>

"How else can we put_ scum_ in their place?" Thomas growled, squeezing the hilt of his gun tighter, "Those bastards tricked you! Why are you defending them anyhow?"

John turned to his family with pleading eyes, "I wasn't tricked... albeit I didn't know who he was when we met, but neither did he."

James seemed to be thinking from where he crouched, finally looking up with determination, "How do you know?"

"Because Sherlock has left us as well." Mycroft grunted, touching his lips and drawing back blood.

Sherlock stood with his brother, making sure he was on two steady feet before pushing forward to take John's hand, much to Thomas' displeasure, "You told your brother you're leaving?" John asked quietly, smiling contently when the taller man nodded. John turned back, squeezing Sherlock's hand as he re-addressed the two families, "We're in love, no tricks, no lies. It's got nothing to do with '_families_'" he informed, letting the word spit off his tongue like a sharp object, "It's just about us."

"You're from opposing families! There's no way this is coincidence!" Thomas replied, keeping his gun in check even after most of the men at his back had started to soften their grips, even raise their heads to hear John out.

"I know you don't approve Thomas, but this is-"

"You dirty _faggots_." The sudden curse threw John off a little bit, and made him jump in his skin. The gun in Thomas' hands had started to shake, and everything about him screamed rage, from the jagged folds of his forehead to the tense slump of his shoulders. "Die."

It took a moment to register what Thomas was about to do, but the moment he did, John forced himself in front of Sherlock, turning suddenly so that he shielded him from any harm, staring into his eyes as the bullet from the gun pierced the flesh of his back. He kept his eyes on Sherlock, who had only finally realized as John started to slump in his arms, sinking down to his knees as someone started yelling orders around.

Thomas was detained, but it was too late. John blinked again and again as Sherlock's face filled with a mix of fear and shock, gathering as much of John in his arms as he could as they both sunk down to the ground.

* * *

><p>Everything was said, but without a single word.<p>

Whether it was the way his brow tilted upward, or the way his eyes watered. The way John gripped onto Sherlock's coat with brute force, like he could slip away at any moment, or the way the he would open his mouth, trying to find words but only succeeding in letting out a short, almost painful gasp.

Sherlock saw the way tears ran down his face, falling into his ears even though John had no intention of wiping them away. They were reminders, this was really happening. He was really dying. Sherlock refused to let it happen. He grabbed John's hands between his own in an angry fit of rage, leaning his forehead into them and silently praying, for what could have been the first time in his life.

If it weren't for the lumps that continually made Sherlock choke on every word he tried to say, he would've been screaming for help, begging whoever was listening that this man lived. He would have been sobbing, rather then just shattering on the inside. Had his lungs been working, he would have screamed at Thomas, the man who caused it all, and if he had the strength, he'd kill the bastard. Of course, Sherlock had none of this, and could only weep inwardly as he held John in his shaky arms.

John's eyes lidded, and he struggled to catch a breath; his lungs finally adjusting to the damage. Sherlock could feel his pulse from where he grabbed. The rhythm was uneven and heavy, like the heart was trying it's best just for Sherlock, just for the sake of answering to his prayers.

Tears were not something Sherlock had ever shed. He'd used them for theatrical purposes before, but this time was different. His heart ached and his stomach turned. He wanted to vomit, faint, scream and kick. He wanted to hold John as close as possible, but couldn't bear the thought of watching the man he'd quite impossibly fallen in love with, die in in arms.

Mary fell to her knees on the other side of John, her noisy crying interrupting his thoughts. The ambulance had most likely been called by now, but Sherlock knew they wouldn't make it.

His eyes locked with John's and the world seemed to slow. It wasn't like in films, he wasn't deaf to the outside world, they weren't suddenly perched on a cloud alone. John was lying on the floor of his home, bleeding from the chest, crying while Sherlock held him. It wasn't like in the films at all. His world was disappearing, and he could feel the pulse jag around, beating as out of rhythm as a child trying to use a drum. Time was slowed, and Sherlock thought he could spend an eternity just studying his face. The cracks and pours, even the blood stains. It was all John.

He was pulled away suddenly, he wondered what was happening, but couldn't tare his eyes away from John's to look and see who was forcing him away. He protested and faught, even kicked a little, never once breaking eye contact. "Joh-" he began, but never finished.

His view was blocked by several men in uniform. He only had enough time to watch John's lidded eyes close completely. The hand he had been holding fell limp onto the ground. Sherlock felt his heart stop and was suddenly aware of everything.

It had all been said, without a single word said.

"John!"

The doctors were, as he expected, too late. No one could have prevented it, but everyone wished they had. A peace meeting was proposed early, and every member of every family attended. Uniting in harmony under one roof. Whatever petty squabble their ancestors had, had all but disappeared. No one wanted to fight anymore. No one wanted to be angry.

Thomas, committed suicide after the incident, allowing Mary to take up the head of the Morstans without needing a husband. She led well, and was more just then her father. She told Mike that things between the two of them couldn't happen after John's death, but there was no grudge.

Mike learned to move on, and became the next in line for the Watson's Don, as he was the rightful heir, leading just as well as Mary did. He and Sherlock became quite close in fact, as Sherlock began to work with his own family, committed to keeping the peace throughout all families.

In memory of John.

When the next generation was established, the four of them met once again to create new laws that forced parents to give right of choice to their children, so nothing like this would happen ever again. No forced marriages, or discouragement in seeing other families. London became better over time, safer even. Peace meetings became unnecessary, and eventually dissolved all together. It was to the point where people started to wonder if the British Mafia even existed.

They stayed out of affairs, and were more like one family then four.

Sherlock visited John's grave every year, and would tell him all about what was happening. He even told him about new menu items at Angelo's, hoping wherever he was, he was laughing over it. He missed John terribly, but knew all the good that had come from it, and tried his best to keep his chin high.

He changed the hobby that John had admired into his work, and elected to become a detective, saving people and catching the criminals through the powers he held. He hoped to see John again one day and tell him all about it. Maybe he would be proud.

End


	23. Ending 2

John slept soundly as Sherlock finished his call with Mycroft, completely oblivious to their conversation as he slept on the last box of Jammy dodgers, his dreams seriously playing with his opinions of staying with Sherlock or not. He'd been thinking about staying, if for no other reason then to apologize to everyone he'd caused pain.

The dream was simple, the setting nothing more then a room, four walls with a few pictures settled carefully within wooden frames, each holding what looked like pictures of himself and Sherlock. The backgrounds always consisted of something different, but he recognized the White House, a popular tourist attraction in America, as well as the Washington monument. There was a single couch beneath the pictures, with a faint lamp that barely lit them up as John lay sprawled across it, his head resting in Sherlock's lap as the man played with his hair. They were watching something on the telly in front of them, but he couldn't quite see what it was, or understand much of the pointless static. He could see himself, and that should have been his first clue.

He didn't really understand what was happening until Harriet appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, a tray of tea and biscuits in hand. They all looked happy. John even saw Sherlock smiling contently, nothing scheming or devilish, just... simply, happy and content. He'd decided before waking up from his pleasantly lit dream that he'd go. America would be a new adventure, and better for the lot of them.

When John's eyes finally opened, he forced himself up from the bed, scuffling out into the hallway with his warm socks to protect him from the cold outside. He was just in time to hear the click of a phone. Sherlock was rubbing his temple with a weary looking figure, groaning faintly before turning in John's direction, starling a little when he finally noticed the man leaning up against the doorframe, "John? You startled me." he mumbled, staring quizzically, "I was just going to check on you. What are you doing up?"

John let out a half-hearted chuckle, "Well, I'm fine as you can see, I just needed to talk with you."

Sherlock nodded silently in recognition. Careful of John's ribs, he helped the man into one of the larger chairs that forged a small, broken sort of mangled circle around the front room. They talked for ages, deciding what to try and accomplish in America, even how to support one another. John was still hesitant to leave his family, but the unrealistic idea that he could change anything had dulled in the back of his brain. There was no way to bring peace through all the families.

"Right." Sherlock nodded, his faint character, breaking into one of apologetic sympathy. "I'll have Harriet set it up. She and Harold should be back with the shopping fairly soon." he offered a forced grin silently before standing with the same dead-dial monotone.

John tried to settle into his seat, the warmth his own body was investing into the leather making him more comfortable. It was still early, and the light on the other side of their drawn curtains was starting to rise, ready for another cold, snowless winter. He was excited, but still a little numb. Thinking about everyone he was leaving behind, but reassuring himself with the lovely dream he'd had only a short while before. It would be alright. _He'd_ be alright.

He faintly remembered Sherlock speaking with Harriet and his cousin, and tried to ignore Harold's conflicted look. They had plane tickets before he knew it, and were ushered into their blue, scratchy airplane seats in an unrealistic shortage of time. That, or he'd just sort of... been somewhere else. His mind was elsewhere. He slept on the plane, and slept in the cab that picked the three of them up from the airport. He didn't feel much of a drive to stay awake, and only bothered to pay a little attention to the small, creamy home they pulled into. Harriet smiled proudly as she looped her arm around John's, "Come on." She encouraged, helping him through the ankle-deep snow.

There was a lot to take in, but John was too tired to bother, despite all his sleep on the trip over. He just wanted to lie down.

Harriet and Harold kept in touch after he returned to see his family, deciding to strife for peace on John's behalf. Of course, it didn't work. The fighting continued, and an all out brawl at the Holmes manor led to serious carnage. England had always been aware of the mafia families before, but after the large body count, it was impossible to ignore, and people had been starting to panic. Order was slowly slipping from the queen's grasp as family members would pass one another on the street, killing anyone who stood in the way of their target. Everyone was angry and agitated, just looking for an excuse to get any form of revenge. London was in chaos.

Luke and his sister Emily had some sort of large argument, causing her to leave London and move to another part of England, he sought comfort in women and got himself into alcohol. The sweet, shy boy John had come to know and love, even role model for lost his form of self, winding up in the harsh clutches of one Irene Adler, who only corrupted him with more sex and drink, both of them falling into an even sicker pattern that involved a rather large amount of nicotine. Their relationship wasn't the strangest though, as sick as it was.

Mike and Mary had married in place of John's absence after the shocking announcement that Mike was of James' bloodline. Their marriage was fleeting however, and their once strong relationship crumbled in one of spite and lies. That wasn't just their marriage either. Andrea left James and went to live with Emily in one of the villages, nothing keeping her tethered to him after John's disappearance, Luke's disgust in both of his parents, and Harold's death. He'd died by the hand of Mycroft Holmes, so had been forced into battle himself after there was no longer enough soldiers to fight for him, caking his hands in blood that would never wash off. He hated it.

Chaos left and right didn't leave Brent with much choice. He'd pulled Tony away into hiding away from the families with the boy once the bloodshed had gotten too great. Tony had been traumatized after seeing a friend he'd trained with get his head blown clear off. He was the only one providing Harriet with information on home, and once he'd left the scene, there was nothing left for her to do but worry and let John know. The last text she managed to receive from him was stressing. Talking about his worries with being followed and the families being mad that the two had deserted. It ended with him describing a banging on the door.

She couldn't get him to reply to anything else she sent.

* * *

><p>John tried to process this information by crushing the edges of their couch with crippling force. It had only been a few months since they left. He'd been quieter then before, and didn't immerse himself in much of the same humorous banter like he had before. The only thing that kept him from really breaking down was Sherlock's effort to make him better. He ran a soothing hand over John's back as his shoulders tensed with every word Harriet spouted.<p>

When John had gotten the earful, he was worse off then when he started. The only reason he didn't actually cry was because he didn't have the energy. He kept telling himself he could have prevented it. That maybe things would have been different if he'd stayed. He started playing scenarios through his head where he'd stopped them from fighting, where he'd told Sherlock it was over, even never met the man at all. It was a hard time for him emotionally.

It's sort of a scary thing really; the human brain. Frightening how easily it is to fall into a dark emotional funk, like an actor playing a roll that falls too deeply into the character. It's easy to lose one's self in their surroundings and sort of succumb to the madness that only plagues the mind.

It was a lonely period of his life, and Sherlock had stopped being able to help. What if he'd done something different? Could he have changed anything? He just kept asking himself. Sherlock tried to promise him that he'd never have to deal with any 'family matters' again, which was a something he would have only wished for if they were back in the small, safe confines of that cheap motel they frequently visited together. He would have loved the thought then, but now it was just a constant reminder that this was all his fault. That he should have stayed to change it all, to bring peace after their defiance.

End

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><p><strong>I wanted to let you know that I'm sorry there's really no 'happy ending' here. The way I see it, this was their real world, and the real world doesn't have happy endings like fairytales. We just sort of, struggle to survive. That sounds dark, but it rings truth. Let me know your own opinions on the matter of true endings. Which ending did you like best? Or didn't you like either? Let me know why. It helps with future stories to let me know what you think believe it or not. This is the end of OD, thanks for sticking with me this far. I hope you enjoyed... or cried.<strong>


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